Autopsy Report
by Rumer
Summary: ~~COMPLETE~~A forensic pathologist sees the results of Silent Hill and it ain't pretty. Stay tuned for the sequel! ^_~
1. Chapter One: Lisa

Autopsy Report

It was a beautiful day outside.  The birds were singing, the sun was shining, and I didn't give a damn.  I was too busy with a corpse. 

 Some job, eh?

Actually, the work's not too bad.  My name's Dr. Kira Devereaux. I'm a forensic pathologist at Brahms. One might say THE forensic pathologist at Brahms; turns out I'm the only one here.  Oh well.  I do my work well, no one really complains.  Except for the few overly religious folk who don't want to know how their loved ones died by my rooting around their chest cavity.  People are like that.  Stupid people, but people just the same.

 For the past month and a half, Brahms' neighbor, Silent Hill, has had some weird bodies been found.  Since they don't have the sort of technology Brahms has, the bodies have been sent here.  And I get to root around through their tissue until I find out what's up.  Oh well, at least the pay has boosted a few notches.  My ego, too.  But something's been sort of bugging me for a while.  Ever since a police officer that went over there a couple weeks ago came back crazy, it sort of shook the community here.  Another guy was with the cop; mad as a march hare.  It's just sort of weird to look at corpses from such a messed up town.  There were rumors of drug dealers too, but that's the police's job.  I just clean up the mess.  Bully for me.

The corpse I was looking at now looked like she was soaked in blood.  Sheesh, can't these blood n' gore cases come up with anything less cliché?

I ruffled the pages of the victim's file report.  "Hemorrhaging…shock…la dee dah.  Name: Lisa Garland…once a nurse at Alchemilla Hospital…special care.  Looks like this girl was pretty qualified."  I handed the clipboard to my assistant, a young college intern.  He looked rather green.  I grinned.  It was fun to scare the newbies.  "Do you want me to open her up, or do you want the honors?"  I held out a scalpel.

"No thanks, Doctor…you go right ahead."

I shrugged.  "Suit yourself."  Adjusting my surgical mask and gloves, I moved to the side of the slab.  Making a face, I fanned at my nose; Lisa was beginning to stink.

I did a quick incision right above the collarbone and cringed.  The flesh was as tough as leather, not like someone lying saturated with blood.  Gritting my teeth, I continued the incision and continued down the torso, making a midsagittal cut directly down to the navel.  By this time, I was getting irritated.  Dead or not, there's usually a bit of blood when the skin is cut.  Still, with the amount of blood on her clothes, I was beginning to think that she'd bled out completely.  Who cares that it's impossible?  It can still happen.  Not.

I resisted the urge to wipe my face.  You learn that after you get smeared with dead blood for the first time.

"Rook, be a sweetie and get me a blood sample before I open her up, would you please?"  I flashed my assistant my most charming smile.

Rook didn't seem fazed.  That was a first.  Most people get all starry eyed when I flash that grin.  Oh well, he was getting a syringe.  Positioning himself across from me, he grasped Lisa's wrist and held it for a moment.

I fought back a snicker.  "Er, Rook, I don't think she'll have a pulse."

Rook glared at me, blushed, and inserted the needle in the bend of her arm.  He pulled the plunger slowly, and my jaw damn near dropped.

The syringe was full of air.

Okay, maybe she DID bleed out completely.

"O-kay.  I've never seen THAT before…" Rook seemed afraid.  No, scratch that.  He looked somewhere between bed-wetting and a near-death experience.

"Neither have I.  Let's open her up and see if we can get anything directly from the heart."  I grasped the skin on the edge of the cut with a pair of rat-toothed forceps.  Rook did the same, with some effort.  "On three.  One, two, three."  We pulled.

And gasped.

The inside was shriveled and diseased-looking.  Every last piece of tissue was mottled and purplish, even brown.  The smell was even worse.  It came over us in a wave, and my eyes began to water.

"Holy shit…" Rook coughed.  "What in the hell happened?"

"We opened up a corpse.  Get your blood sample."

"From where?"

He had a point.  The heart, or the thing that once was the heart, was a black, almost crispy hunk of meat.  It looked like a really short bratwurst that had stayed on the barbie several months too long.

"Well…try."

Rook glared at me, then stuck a newly opened syringe in the right ventricle.  Good, it was filling up with some red, cloudy substance.  It looked pus-filled.  Not the best blood around, but it was a blood sample nonetheless.

"Good.  Go take it to the lab.  Do what you can; I'll finish up here."

Rook looked relieved as he tromped out of the room.  I pulled a white sheet from a stainless steel cabinet and draped in over Lisa Garland's still body.  I looked at her frozen brown eyes.

"Girl, you had problems."

***

Twelve hours and three visits to Lisa later, I was sitting in my office trying to finish the autopsy report for the coroner.  I still hadn't come up with cause of death; there seemed to be no stabs, blasts, anything that would have made her lose that much blood.  My only guess was spontaneous fatal hemorrhaging.  Me big heap forensic pathologist; I knew what any bum off the street knew at first sight.  Good for me.

The phone rang.  I love my phone; it plays the funeral march when it rings.  It scares people.

"Hello?"

"Dr. Devereaux?"

"Speaking."

"This is Rook.  I finished analyzing that blood sample."

"And?"

"I found leukocytes, disabled platelets, destroyed red blood cells, and some random drugs."

"Come again?"

"The girl was on drugs.  White Claudia, if the lab reports are correct.  I found only traces, but it was probably enough to wipe out her immune system.  No one really knows much about this drug, but I'll tell you one thing.  It will give you a hell of a blood problem."

"So the drugs were what caused the hemorrhaging?"

"That's what I think."

"Good.  Thanks, Rook.  Send me a copy of the report, if you please."

"No problem."

"Ta."

I hung up and rested my head on my hand.  My other hand was typing.

'Cause of death: Drug overdose leading to hemorrhaging.  Devereaux.'

I dropped the report off at the front office and whistled on the way to my car.

The next morning I was woken up by a very interesting phone call.

~~~

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	2. Chapter Two: Kaufmann

A/N:  Hi!  Good gracious, I got some reviews!  Now I have a project of sorts.  This is good; I need something to do in my free time besides watch Blade for the thousandth time.  Not that I'm complaining, but hey.

Claimer:  Dr. Kira Devereaux, Rook, and anyone you've never heard of are mine.  MINE, I TELL YOU!  
Disclaimer:  Anyone you recognize does not belong to me.  Phooey.

Yes, I did like Silence of the Lambs.  Dr. Lecter is the best villain I've ever seen.  Sadly, he's not mine either.  But his second cousin twice removed is!  Ha!  Loopholes are fun.  
  
Oh yes- if you hadn't guessed, this story is based on the Bad+ ending.  ^_^  
  
Ta,   
Rumer

Autopsy Report: Chapter Two

Ah, dawn.  The best time of day.  Nothing's about.  Maybe a few timid woodland creatures, but not much else.  I was the exception; a rather annoyed but energized young forensic pathologist.  Lets look at this - bunny rabbit, chipmunk, forensic pathologist.  Which of the three does not belong on this list?  You get three guesses, and the first two don't count.

If it could be believed, I was up earlier than even the bunny rabbits.  Why?  I was sleeping just as soundly as could be until my phone rang at 4:30 AM.  Needless to say, I'm not a morning person.  It's unnatural to be able to just get up and go.  In any case, after a few mumbled 'hello, what do you wants', I woke up enough to figure out what the person at the other end of the line was trying to tell me.

"There was another body found."

"…'scuse me?"

"Male this time, older.  If you thought the last corpse was bad, wait until you see this one."

"Could this wait?"

"If you could get here in an hour at the latest, it would be great.  Believe me, it's worth it."

Uh huh.  Like I was gonna jump up and down over a dead body.

"Okay, I'll be there.  Who is this?"

"Um…this is Dr. Elwood Lecter.  Your assistant for the day."

"Okay…I'll meet you in an hour.  Be at the lab.  Ta."

So there I was, driving down the road in my 2002 Audi, coffee in hand, on my way to another lovely little wake-up call.  As far as I was concerned, anything worse than Lisa didn't need to be found.  But that's just me.  And I'd bet money that whatever the new body was came from Silent Hill.  If someone were taking bets, I'd walk away a rich woman.  Sadly, most people in town don't gamble.  That's what I get for moving to the middle of nowhere.

I pulled in front of the clinic a few minutes later and got out of my Audi.  Dirt was dusted along the sides, discoloring the perfect opalescent pearl of the paint.  Making a mental note to never take the scenic route to work ever again, I walked to the building, taking my own sweet time.  Whatever was in there could wait.  What was the body gonna do, decompose before I got there?  Maybe.  But since I'm not a troublemaker by choice (most of the time), I quickened my pace and moved fluidly through the revolving front door.  After checking in for the morning at the front desk and getting my coffee mug refilled, I headed for the lab.

The first thing I noticed about halfway there was the smell.  Lisa smelled bad; this smelled absolutely putrescent.  Like cooked meat.  Dear Lord, I hoped this wasn't a burn case.  I passed three other empty autopsy offices before I got to mine.  Lucky number four.  And lucky me, my work for the day was on the slab.

It was a male, probably mid thirties.  Rather large, but one could tell that was how he was naturally built.  Remnants of a high-class Armani suit were still stuck to the flesh.  I'm sorry, let me rephrase that – Remnants of an Armani were _melted_ to the flesh.  Goody, it WAS a burn case.  This would be the reason I'm a vegetarian.

A man in a white lab coat was bent over the body, no doubt at work already.  I tapped on the glass and he stood up.  Seeing me at the window, he motioned that I could come in.  I did.  

"Morning, Dr. Devereaux," he said in an overly chipper voice.  He made no effort to offer his gloved hand – smart man.  He knew that people don't like blood or any other body fluid on their nice clean hands.

"I presume you are Dr. Lecter, am I correct?"  I snapped on a pair of rubber gloves and a mask.

"Right.  Well, what do you think of our friend here?"  He gestured to the crispy corpse.  I pulled a lab coat from a hanger and threw it on.

"Well, it's a burn victim, I'll tell you that much."  I took a probe and began examining what Dr. Lecter had already done.  He'd done the main incisions – apparently he hadn't thought to wait for me.  I didn't mind; he could have it.

"Not only that."  He took another probe and went to the man's left arm.  He rotated it inward, just enough for me to be able to see bone poking out from the flesh.

"Broken humerus…open fracture.  That's strange."  I looked at the right arm.  It was covered with purple mottling; it was either sprained, badly bruised, or broken.  I couldn't tell through the char.

"That's not all." Dr. Lecter moved some Armani scraps away from the throat and uncovered a purplish swelling on the collarbone.  "The clavicle's broken, too.  But the worst- "  Dr. Lecter pulled at the main incision down the chest.  A sick crack filled the room.

"Okay, so two ribs are cracked.  What does this mean, beside that this man was broken on the wheel before burned?"  I was getting irritated.  Some people throw up during autopsies like this; I get pissed off.  It's natural.

"Look at the positions of the breaks.  Doesn't it look like this man was restrained?"  He had a point.  It looked like someone was holding him so hard he just broke.  Somehow I couldn't think of anyone with that strength, except maybe a really buffed body builder.  I didn't know any.

"So someone-or something was holding him.  Left arm across the chest, right making an angle and putting pressure on the collarbone.  If it was a person, not chains or whatever, they must have had major upper body strength.  In any case, he was restrained.  Which leads us to conclude that this was- "

"Wrongful death.  You got it."  Dr. Lecter looked grave.

"Do you have the body's papers?"

Dr. Lecter moved to a file cabinet and took a plastic-bound sheaf of laminated paper from the top.  He handed it to me.

"Thanks.  Okay," I said, shuffling through the file, "Here we go.  Dr. Michael Kaufmann.  Director of the Alchemilla Hospital.  Silent Hill.  Why am I not surprised."  Dr. Lecter gave me a warning glare.  I returned it.  "Says here he was found in the hospital examination room.  Now here's something new," I said softly, "He was found in the same place Lisa was found, except a day later."

"Lisa?"  Dr. Lecter looked up.  "Lisa Garland?  The nurse you looked at yesterday?"

I nodded.  "The same.  Do me a favor – get a blood sample and compare it to Lisa's.  I want to know if there's any similarities.  Get some of the suit off him, too.  See if there's anything there.  Let me know the second the analyses are done."

"Yes, Doctor."  Dr. Lecter took a syringe from the cabinet and did what I told him to.  He put the piece of Armani in a glass jar and put both samples in his coat pocket.  "Are you gonna be here all day?" he asked.

"Most likely.  I have to get the report done for the coroner.  I need your notes, too.  The sooner you get those reports in to me, the sooner you can leave."

He nodded his assent.  "First priority.  Expect my report in an hour.  I'll tell the lab guys to step on it and forward their report directly to you."

"Good.  Ta, Dr. Lecter."  I waved him out of the room.  When he had gone, I retrieved a white sheet from the stainless steel cabinet full of sheets and covered the doctor's dead body.  That done, I cleaned the instruments and sent the coats down to wash.  Then, locking the door behind me, I headed for my office.

***

My report was half written when someone knocked at my door.

"Come."  A young man, early twenties, entered the room and handed me a package.  "Hello, Rook!  Good to see you.  New work, I see."

Rook nodded.  "Yes ma'am.  I'm not made for your job."

"I'm sorry to hear that.  Sorry I can't chat - I have work to do.  Take care, Rookie."  I waved him off.  He closed the door with a click behind him.  Rook, a lab rat and go-fer.  Oddly enough, it fit.

I opened the brown paper of the package and laid a sheaf of paper in front of me.  The report.  I skimmed the majority of the report until I reached the final, raw analyses.  _Normal RBC, WBC, Platelet count; Slight antibody deficiency; traces of drug in immune system._ Uh oh.

I looked at the drug analysis.  White Claudia again.  Okay, looks like the rumors were true about the drug dealings in Silent Hill.

Then I looked at the analysis for the scrap of suit.  I stared at the paper in disbelief.

Apparently, the bit of cloth was soaked with Lisa Garland's blood.

I scribbled the last of my report down and signed it.  Then I took out a request for leave.

I wanted to visit Silent Hill.

~~~

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	3. Chapter Three: Seventh Circle

A/N:  Thanks for sticking with me for this long!  Third chapter already- I'm neglecting my current works.  (What are they?  Sorry-I don't think I'll be posting them.  Personal, ya know.)  Feel special.  

Needless to say, the fact that my writing's getting reviews is boosting my ego a few notches.  Not that I'm complaining…the more reviews, the faster chapters get finished and posted.  Now you have incentive!  Whee!  ^_^

I posted the disclaimers and claimers in the previous chapter.  If you can't live without them, then go ahead and drop dead.  Thbppt.  
  
Cheers,  
~Rumer

Autopsy Report: Chapter Three

A horrible noise screeched across the interstate.  It echoed off the cliff walls on either side of the road, making completely sure it was the only thing you could hear.  I tried to clamp my hands over my ears, but I had to drive.  Finally, I took action.

"Rook!  I will run this car into a bridge, I swear to God!  Will you PLEASE SHUT UP?!" I screamed at my colleague, who was sitting in the passenger seat.  Rook was trying (and failing) to sing along to Sting's "Desert Rose" that was playing on the radio.  

Rook stopped his howls and flashed me a goofy grin.  "You're just jealous."

I looked at him like he had lobsters crawling out of his ears.  "Jealous of singing like a horribly wounded animal who desperately needs to be put out of its misery?"  I was incredulous.  College intern or not, there was no way in hell I was gonna stand for his screeches.  _No way in hell._

Rook shrugged, and slumped down in the white leather seat.  I heaved a sigh of relief.  It was comforting to know I wasn't going to go insane halfway to my destination.  Sadly, I couldn't tell what would happen when we got there.

We were on our way to the resort town of Silent Hill.  That's right; we were going right down to the seventh circle of Hell.  At least, that's what Cybil Bennett called it.  But she was deemed criminally insane, so that's not a very reliable source.  Interesting, yes.   Reliable, no.

Before Rook could get into the next song (some song by Ace of Base), I popped a CD in the player.  The grin on Rook's face turned to disgust.  I had put the Moulin Rouge soundtrack in, and by this point, "Lady Marmalade" was blasting over the speakers.  I grinned; Rook looked like he was about to throw up.  I switched the song to "Sparkling Diamonds" and began to relax.  We'd be at our destination in about ten minutes, and since I'd listened to Rook's howling for about ten minutes, it was only fair.  Before I could get back to my designated driver attitude, Rook asked the age-old question that had earned many kids the right to walk home:

"Are we there yet?"

***

"You didn't have to punch me, Dr. Devereaux…"

We stood in the lobby of Alchemilla Hospital, Silent Hill.  Rook was rubbing a slowly purpling spot on his jaw where I'd bopped him when he asked **THE QUESTION**.  Served him right, I thought.  

"I think it served you right."  A new voice said, a hint of amusement in her tone.

I turned slowly and saw a middle-aged, grinning Asian woman.  She was tall for her origins, with short-cut black hair like mine, black eyes, and a snappy skirt and blouse set under a pristine lab coat.  The name "Dr. M'ai Ling" was stenciled into a nametag on her lapel.

"I am Dr. M'ai Ling," she said, extending a hand.  I took it.

"I read," I said with a smile.  "I am Dr. Kira Devereaux, and this is my assistant, Rook Pawnton.  I'm the forensic pathologist over at Brahms.  Business has been picking up, as I'm sure you know, and to tell the truth, I'm just a little bit curious where it's all coming from."

Dr. Ling raised an eyebrow.  "Didn't curiosity kill the cat?"

I shrugged.  "Cats have nine lives.  I'm not too worried."

Dr. Ling nodded.  "Come with me."  She stalked off down the corridor, black pumps clacking the whole time.  Ah, so there's where the height came from.

Rook looked at me.  I nodded.  "Let's go."  We followed Dr. Ling through several winding corridors before ending up in the director's office.  Dr. Ling motioned us inside, and we went.  She followed, closing the door behind us with a snap.

The office was small, but very well organized.  The only furniture in the room was a highly polished oak desk that sat in the center of the room; a sturdy looking bookshelf stuffed with medical volumes and papers on a wall; and two chairs positioned strategically in front of the desk.  Dr. Ling seated herself behind the desk, and motioned for us to sit in the two chairs.  As we did, I saw the placard on the desk:

DR. M'AI LING  
DIRECTOR OF ALCHEMILLA HOSPITAL

I raised an eyebrow.  "You're the new Director?" I asked casually.  Dr. Ling nodded.

"After Dr. Kaufmann was…relieved…I was designated for his position."  She looked extremely uncomfortable.  "However, it's fortunate you have come.  Now we do not have to pay shipping costs for your next assignment."

Rook looked pale.  "Assignment?"

Dr. Ling nodded.  "Yes.  We found another body."

I leaned forward in the chair and clasped my hands together.  "In the hospital?"

"No.  This one was found in a church.  Balkan Church, to be exact.  It's on the corner of Bloch and Bachman Streets.  She is in our morgue now, waiting to be shipped.  Thankfully, you have come to us, and relieved us of a horrible tax."  Dr. Ling managed a weak smile.  "You know how it is these days."

"Yes I do.  Who is she?"  I said, pressing the subject.  Dr. Ling shook her head.

"We do not know yet.  She was found burned to a crisp, very much like Dr. Kaufmann, except…"  she trailed off.

"What?"  Now Rook was curious.

"This woman looks like she was completely burned.  Every inch of skin.  Nothing untouched."  Dr. Ling spread her hands.  "We were going to send her to you to find out, but now you are here.  You can perform an autopsy in unfamiliar surroundings, am I right?"

I nodded.  "It's my job.  But get this: it won't be free.  I'm not doing anyone any favors.  I'm far from philanthropist, and I'm here on unpaid leave.  I came to find things out and relax, not to work.  Am I making myself clear?"

"Crystal.  We are more than ready to meet your fees."  Dr. Ling stood up.  "I am thinking you would like to see your new…project, am I right?"

Rook and I stood.  "We would indeed."

"Then follow me."  We left the office, trailing behind Dr. Ling like living shadows.

And we all walked down to the morgue.

~~~

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	4. Chapter Four: Wrong Reasons

A/N:  Hi all!

I know the last chapter wasn't up to snuff (coughITSUCKEDcough), but it's like that for a reason.  *evil grin*  Yes, Rook is the comic relief of sorts.  He's not doing a good job, but oh well, that's Rook for ya.

Because I won't be here for a period starting this weekend, I shall bequeath unto you, the readers, 2 new (longer) chapters by the end of the week.  As in, FRIDAY.  That oughta satisfy yer appetites.  If I get the chance to write while I'm gone, then bully for me.

Hopefully I'll play SH2 while I'm gone…and if I get enough out of the chars and storyline, you can probably guess where this story will go.  *grin*

I expect many reviews by my return.  Don't let me down.

Cheers,  
~Rumer

Autopsy Report: Chapter Four

  
The basement area of Alchemilla Hospital reminded me of catacombs.  Dank, dark, and overall creepy.  And this is coming from the tough-as-nails forensic pathologist.  Considering that I got scared when I saw Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho (the original black 'n white version), it's amazing that I'm in the profession I'm in.  Oh well.  When I get scared of something, I shoot it.  Most people stand aside and let themselves get killed.  These are the two types of people who react to fear: Kill the source or kill yourself.  You can guess what I am.

Dr. Ling led us down the dimly lit corridor to the morgue.  After a few moments she stopped in front of a door with a window made of clouded glass.  Give the dead a little privacy.  Considerate.  Dr. Ling fumbled around in her pocket for a second before coming up with a silvery keychain with God knows how many keys on it.  She selected an old-fashioned chrome key and inserted it in the keyhole.  The door creaked open, and we stepped inside.

There were several empty gurneys out of their respective freezers.  Waste of cold air.  Most freezers were closed, but only one was locked.  Bingo.

Dr. Ling took another key from the almighty keychain and unlocked the freezer that I pondered about seconds ago.  Trying to avoid looking at another burn case for as long as possible, I skirted the room and put the gurneys back in the freezers, taking my own sweet time.  By the time I was done, the offending gurney had been rolled out, a body bag placed on it.  They had waited for me.  Shit.

"Are you finished, Dr. Devereaux?" Dr. Ling said in an impatient tone.

"Quite."  I walked slowly to the slab and held my breath-I could smell the burnt flesh through the heavy plastic.

"Before we begin-" Rook tossed me a lab coat that was several sizes too large, rubber gloves, and a mask.  He was already decked out and ready to go.  Good ol' Rook, ready for anything.  The model Boy Scout.  I donned the too-big coat, gloves and mask, and took a deep breath.

"Let's take a look at her, shall we?"  I noticed my hand starting to shake.  I shoved it into a pocket.

"Let's."  Dr. Ling slowly drew the zipper down the bag and flung it open.

"Holy shit!"  I gasped.  The corpse was completely and totally burned.  I couldn't even tell if it was a woman.  Being the sick-minded person I am, I had to wonder how Dr. Ling came to know what it was.  I decided I didn't want to know.  Fanning at my mask, I approached Dr. Ling.  "If you'll just get us a tray of utensils and vials, you can go.  We'll take it from here."  She nodded and left the room.  She returned a moment later with a tray of surgical tools and an assortment of different jars and syringes.  "Thanks.  You can leave now."  She left, closing the door behind her.  Smart woman.

I hadn't even noticed Rook.  His expression almost made me laugh.  He looked like he was trying to decide whether to throw up on the tiled floor in here, or try to make it to the bathroom and _then_ throw up.  Too bad the nearest bathroom was on the next floor.  He'd have to wait.

"Now then, let's see what we have."  I took a scalpel and probe from the tray.  Rook reluctantly took a syringe.  Before started my work on the world's most sunburned citizen, I let Rook take the blood sample.  Good, the blood he took looked normal.  "Rook, go ahead and get that analyzed.  You said yourself you didn't like my job; go away and do yours."

"Thank you, Doctor…"  He practically bolted from the room, leaving it open.

"Shut the door!"

"Sorry!"  Rook came back, slammed the door, and took off down the hall.

I chuckled to myself.  Rook would never make it in this profession.

I turned back to the spokeswoman for Kentucky Fried Corpses and made a midsagittal incision from the head of the sternum to the navel.  I made several more incisions, thankful that this skin wasn't tough or thick, but delicate and flimsy.  Apparently the fire made her more fragile in death than in life.  I still didn't doubt that she was weak in any sense.

Suddenly, I thought I heard someone crying.

I looked up from my work and glanced around the room.  A child…that's what it sounded like.  A child weeping.

The sound left as abruptly as it came.  I felt a chill, and as a sense of slight paranoia crept into my mind I hunched over the corpse again.  I had to cut through the remains of a men's tie.  Either this was a very ugly man on estrogen medication or just a very confused (and still ugly) woman.  I decided on the latter.  

Then I heard it again.  A child crying.  I looked up again, but saw no one.  So, feeling thoroughly paranoid now, I returned to my work.  I finished my incisions and decided to open her up.  I took two pairs of rat-toothed forceps and slowly spread the flesh apart.  A wave of flesh-smelling steam hit my face, making my eyes fill with tears and my stomach shudder.  I turned away and coughed violently for a few moments before I looked at her innards again.

There was nothing.

The only thing inside of her was just a bunch of soot and ash.

I shook my head and took a few steps back from the gurney.  _No way_, I told myself.  _There is no way that this can happen.  It wasn't spontaneous combustion; there would be nothing left but ash altogether.  I don't know…_

I looked at the corpse's face.  In life, she had worn what looked like several pounds of makeup, most of it now melted to dribble down her high cheekbones.  Her mouth was contorted in a silent scream, and her glassy brown eyes stared up at the ceiling endlessly.  But she was burned.

_Like hellfire was loosed upon her…_

Then I heard the crying again, louder.

"Screw it," I said aloud.  "Whatever's crying had better have a good reason for interrupting my work and scaring the shit out of me, or I'm gonna give it a real reason to cry."  I wasn't scared or paranoid anymore, just royally pissed off.  I stormed out of the morgue and down the hall.  The crying got louder.  It seemed to wail as I passed the storeroom, so I stopped and pressed my ear to the clouded glass window.  Yep, the crying was coming from in there.  I tested the doorknob; unlocked.  I went in.

I snapped on the light.  It illuminated a rather large room, full of odds and ends.  Shelves piled with surgical instruments; desks and chairs piled up in a corner, and a large bookcase directly across from me.  Something strange caught my eye-skid marks.  There were skid marks next to the bookshelf, like it was dragged to hide something.  Or just a really poor mover who probably got his ass chewed out when the administrator found the grooves in the would-be perfect tile.

The crying was emanating from the bookshelf.

I pulled the bookshelf away from the wall and looked inside.  There was a set of staircases.

"Uh uh, Kira," I said aloud, "You know you're not supposed to go down there.  You don't know what's there!"

The crying got louder.

I went down the stairs.

The second I hit the landing, I saw a pit in the middle of the room.  Well, not really a pit, but another staircase leading down to blackness.  The dark.  I shuddered.  I hated the dark with a vengeance.  So, playing the resourceful scientist, I doubled back to the storeroom, found a flashlight, and went back down the stairs and into the darkness.  

The flashlight played on several doors when I got to the ground.  I tried them one at a time, working my way up the small corridor.  They were locked.  The crying seemed to get to an almost screaming pitch.

Finally I got to the last door on the left side.  The crying abruptly stopped.

I jiggled the handle-and found it unlocked.  

_Oh, no, Kira…You don't want to do this…You want to go back upstairs…Don't do it…Please don't…_

I went inside.

The first thing I saw was a dead body.

~~~

Reviews=More chapters!


	5. Chapter Five: Alessa

A/N:  Hi, all!

Here's the second helping of stories to tide you over.  I'm surprised I finished it two days before the quota.  But you're not complaining, right?  ^_^ But after this, I probably won't update for about two weeks unless I can get my hands on a computer.  Can't say I won't try.

Anyway, continue to review, and fear not.  I shall return.

Cheers,  
~Rumer

Autopsy Report: Chapter Five

I stared at the dead girl on the bed.  Blood had pooled in the sheets around her.  I took a closer look at her skin.  Old, blood-filled bandages covered most everything.  In fact, it seemed to be all she was wearing.  But her head from the neck up and left arm were bare.  I saw raw, red flesh.  Pus infested the wounds, making them seem twice as bad.  It looked like she had been infected before she died.  In my mind, it seemed that she was being treated, then just…forgotten.

"Jesus," I muttered under my breath, "What the hell could have happened to this girl that could get her this way…"  I looked at the small bedside table.  A videotape was there.  An old videotape, from the looks of it.  Curious as I am, I pocketed it for later viewing.  You never know what could be on an old tape.  For all I knew it could be reruns of Happy Days or a documentary on mollusks.  I'd prefer the mollusks.

I walked to the other side of the bed and shined my light around.  A partially burnt picture was in a broken frame on the floor next to the bed.  I moved an IV stand blocking my way, picked the picture up and blew the dust off of it.  Shining my light on the picture, I read aloud.

"Alessa."  The picture was of a young girl, maybe late teens, with long black hair and a blank stare.  I looked from the girl in the picture to the dead body on the bed, comparing.  After several double-takes, I decided that it was the same girl, no doubt about it.  

I heard a creaking noise behind me, so I turned to look.  The door had waggled on its hinges, threatening to close.  I put the picture on the bed next to Alessa and headed to the door.  Getting locked inside a room with a decaying body is not my cup of tea, thank you.  I'd prefer the body be the day's work, and not a discovery on one of my adventures into the unknown.  I hurried through the short hall, up both flights of stairs, and into the storage room.  The light was still on, and I left it that way.  Without missing a beat, I headed straight to Dr. Ling's office.

When I got there, I knocked once and let myself in without waiting for clearance.  Dr. Ling was sitting behind her desk, typing away at a laptop in front of her.  She smiled at my entrance.

"Hello, Doctor!  Is anything wrong?"  The perfect hostess.  Gag me with a spoon.  I wondered if this woman was really a doctor or a secretary in disguise.

"May I use the intercom, please?"  I said in my politest voice.

"Of course."  She set a microphone on the desk and flipped a switch.  She handed it to me.  I took it.

"Will all available paramedics and recovery personnel please report to Dr. Ling's office, please.  I repeat, all available paramedics and recovery personnel please report to Dr. Ling's office.  Thank you."

Dr. Ling flipped the switch, apparently turning the microphone off.  "Why do you want people here, Doctor?  Is anything wrong?"  Again with the hostess.  I decided she was a secretary in disguise.

"You have a body in your basement, did you know that?"  I said in my most innocent voice.

"Yes, I know.  The woman you supposedly did an autopsy on."  I shook my head in disgust.  This girl was commanding in front of inferiors, but now it seemed that she swam in the shallow end of her gene pool.  There'll be no diving, though.

"No.  Another body."  I seethed the words out.

"Yes, there are other bodies in the morgue."

I thought about screaming at her and decided against it.  She'd probably cry.  Before I could do anything, a knock sounded at the door.  Ah, perfect timing.  

"Come in!"  Dr. Ling sang.  A young doctor poked his head in.  "We responded to the announcement.  What's going on?"

I turned around and looked at the man.  "I found a body in a secret room in the Storage Room.  Please recover her."

"The Storage Room?  There's no secret room there…"

"Then follow me.  Please excuse me, Dr. Ling."  I went out the door and down to the basement, a pack of medical staff at my heels.

***

Several hours later I sat in the passenger seat of my car, driving back to Brahms.  Rook was driving, and we were leading an ambulance back to the office.  Alessa had apparently stirred up some tension, so they decided to send her back to Brahms so I could work there.  Great.  Back to work and I still had a week's worth of leave left.  How I always wind up working on vacation, I'll never know.  Dahlia had gone back in the freezer waiting for proper burial or further analysis, whatever came first.  My new project was my new finding - Alessa.  Whoop dee dee for me.  At least I got paid for cutting her open too.  I'd be royally pissed if they didn't, and people get scared of me when I'm pissed.  It's an advantage.

Rook wasn't singing.  The radio was off.  Thank God.  I didn't think I could handle it at the moment.  I'd probably wind up throwing him out of the car if he started.  But lucky for me, he was silent the entire way back.  That was a miracle in itself.

We got back to Brahms at about 5:00 that evening.  We'd left at seven in the morning, gotten to Silent Hill at eight, started the autopsy at 9, and the rest was downhill from there.  At least I'd finished up the other woman I'd been working on before we left.  Rook came back with the blood analysis halfway through, stating that the woman's name was Dahlia Gillespie and she too was on White Claudia.  Was it just me or was there a pattern here?  Probably just me.  I'm known to make wild accusations that most people agree with and assumptions that all the evidence points to.  I'm just lucky, I guess.

The second we pulled into the parking lot, I heaved a sigh.  It was gonna be a long night.

***

I adjusted the mask around my face and made sure all the instruments I needed were still there.  They were.  The medical team from Silent Hill had taken off the second the corpse was in the operating room.  I'd send them the bill later.  I'd told Rook to take a blood sample and go home, an order he seemed to deeply appreciate.  So Rook was gone, the other medical staff personnel were gone, and I was all by my lonesome with my day's findings.  Joy.

I took a scalpel and probe, my two now most used instruments and did an incision across Alessa's collarbones.  The flesh parted immediately.  Good.  Normal skin.  I made a midsagittal incision and a large incision across the waist.  Taking two pairs of rat-toothed forceps, I grasped the edges of the cuts and pulled.  As the flesh parted, I almost cried with relief.

The body's insides were absolutely normal.  Thank the Lord above.  As I poked around her insides, I noted that everything was there and in almost perfect shape.  If not for her wounds on the surface, this girl seemed to have no reason to have died.  Maybe it was her overall physical condition that kept her alive for so long.  Huh.  

Then I noticed something white around her spinal column.

Using all the strength I could muster, I turned Alessa over so I could examine her back.  I gasped when I saw what was there.

A hole.  A huge, gaping hole was ripped through her back, exposing the spinal column and most of her ribs.  The white I had seen was the gurney cloth that Alessa lay on.  It was as though something had torn its way out of her, using her back as the door.

Suddenly I felt lightheaded.  I set the instruments down on a tray and pulled a white sheet from the white sheet file cabinet and draped it over Alessa's still form.  

"Well," I said to myself in a shaky voice, "I guess I know what killed her now."

I pushed Alessa's gurney back inside the freezer.  That done, I took off the coat, gloves, and mask and disposed of them.  Then I went to my office.  I still had to make out my report.  I _really _didn't want to.  I felt tired, hungry, and all around bitchy.  I just wanted to go home, cook up a big batch of chicken noodle soup, curl up under a thick blanket, and sleep the rest of my vacation away.  But I had the report to write…Damn the people who came up with reports.  Damn them to hell.

As I walked, I put my shaking hands in my pockets.  Yes, shaking hands.  I don't know if they were shaking from the coldness of the autopsy rooms or the fact that every body I'd dissected that week had something seriously and almost impossibly wrong with them.  I couldn't tell.  My poor fingers had begun to warm up when they closed around cold plastic.  Puzzled, I pulled out the videotape I had found earlier.  Silly me, I had forgotten to tell the hospital personnel about it until it was too late.  Oh well, at least I could see what was on it.  If it really was a documentary on mollusks, I decided I would make a copy of it.  Things like that were too fascinating to pass up.

When I got back to my office, I turned on the portable TV/VCR in the corner and popped in the tape.  Sitting down and settling back in my chair, I pushed the play button on my handy-dandy remote control.  Static jumbled the tape for a few moments, then cleared, revealing a young girl sitting at a desk of some sort in the dark.  Her forehead rested on her laced hands, and she was slumped in a defeated posture.  I couldn't make out her face, but I could see that she had light brown hair.  _Just like Lisa_, I thought to myself.  The girl started to talk.

"I can't stand it…I can't do this.  The girl won't heal.  She never heals…even when I change the bandages, the blood and pus just start oozing through!  No matter what I do…no matter how many treatments I try…nothing helps.  I can't…"

The video flickered and returned to static.  I pushed the stop button.

And the first place prize of the 32nd Annual Film Festival goes to…

~~~

Reviews=More chapters!……which I'll post as soon as I get back.  ^_^;;;


	6. Chapter Six: Cybil

A/N:  Sorry for the delay, folks. Technical difficulties beyond my control have taken place.  But it's (hopefully) okay now, so set your hearts at ease.  
  
Hah!  I'm back!  Let the creatures of the underworld quake in fear!  
Sorry.  Anyway, I'm back from my prolonged hiatus.  I did get to play Silent Hill 2, and I plan on continuing the rental so I can finish the game.  So, hopefully, I can have a continuation coming down the pipe.  Heh, Kira would run out of bodies to dissect and this story would be over if I didn't have SOME sort of new plot twist, right?

Anyway!  Autopsy Report is cocked, locked, and ready to rock, so fasten your seatbelts and hold on tight, 'cause here we go again!

Cheers,  
~Rumer

Autopsy Report: Chapter 6

Morgues are scary.  Well, that's during the day.  At night, morgues are just downright terrifying.  Especially when you're in a morgue alone at 11:45 PM.  Think of it: the only lights on are the ones you turn on yourself; no one there to help you do what you need to do - hell, there's no one there at all; the smallest sounds suddenly transform into the sound of a madman tromping after you, wanting to stick a knife in your gut; all that good stuff and more.  Fear does that to you, ya know.  It makes you almost delirious.  Good thing for me I never leave home without my Ruger.  Hey, no client has complained yet, so why not?  I have a license to carry concealed weapons, and it's best not to let it go to waste.  It's saved my ass many a time, I'll say that right now.  What I won't say is what those times were.  Some things are best left alone.

The fact has been established that morgues are scary.  You people are smart, normal people, right?  Then you understand what I've just been talking about.  Good.  Isn't it sort of ironic that the person giving the 'don't do this' speech is usually doing or has done the action before?  Here's an example: Me, walking down the corridor, on my merry way to the morgue.  I know it's not normal.  But then, I'm not normal.  Never was.  So it fits.

I'd locked Alessa's lovely little tape of Lisa in my desk and closed up my office a few minutes ago.  Seemed practical; there was nothing else I needed from there.  Well, except perhaps my stuffed giraffe for comfort, but that's another matter altogether.  Tough-as-nails forensic pathologists didn't need stuffed animals to hug on duty, right?  Right.  It's bad for the image.  In any case, I was on my way to see Alessa again.  Seeing that tape made me curious about her injuries.  Truth was, I didn't want to go down there.  I wanted to go home.  I wanted to go home and sleep.  And maybe watch a documentary on mollusks while I was at it.  But I wanted to go home just the same.  Too bad.  Work first, mollusks later.  What a deprived life I lead.

I came to the end of the corridor and saw that I had a choice.  There was a dark stairwell to the right, and an elevator to the left.  I was on the third floor of the hospital clinic and wanted to get to the basement.  Therefore, the elevator seemed the logical choice.  Right?  Wrong.  I'd had a horrible fear of elevators since I was a kid.  It happens after you get caught in a free-fall.  Since then I sported both mental and physical scars, neither being very easy to hide.  But both therapy and a hell of a health plan can work wonders.  Still, my mind was made up.  I went for the stairs.  After I turned on the lights, I took the tiled steps two at a time, quite a feat for a 5'7" woman wearing 1 ½ inch pumps.  I was surprised I didn't break my ankle.  Some morbid curiosity in me wondered what would have happened if the lights were off and I'd attempted what I was now doing.  The sheer thought of my own possible paralysis almost made me miss a rather remarkable smell.  I just caught a whiff, but as I descended, the smell grew stronger.

It was the unmistakable smell of death.

New death, not old death.  The smell of old death is expected when you're working in a morgue.  Dead bodies just smell dead.  I fear the day a corpse smells live.

I reached the basement landing and left the stairwell.  The hall was dark, as expected, and I had to grope along the wall until I found the switch.  I flipped it on, revealing the oh-so-spooky basement corridor.  Everything seemed in order, except for the extremely out-of-place smell and the fact that the door to the morgue was _open._

Not wide open, just slightly open.  As if someone was inside and wanted everyone else to know it.  Funny.  The last time I saw, the door was locked.  In fact, I remember being the one who locked it.  And in any case, I didn't know anyone who liked working in the dark.  The morgue itself was pitch black, just like all the other offices.  I unbuttoned my royal blue blazer and let it flap open.  The good thing about blazers is the fact that they're lightweight and still manage to conceal a shoulder holster complete with Ruger .45 KP97 Decocker.  Quick access to my gun would be useful should something nasty be afoot.  Oddly enough, the smell of death was coming from the morgue.  Of course.

I let one hand rest on the butt of my gun as I neared the morgue.  After a few moments, I stood directly beside the door.  Death wafted through the small crack, and I stifled a sniff of disgust.  I heard a small crash from the inside of the room, making my heart jump into my throat and the Ruger jump into my hand.  Slowly, I eased the door open a few inches before flinging it open and pointing the Ruger into the darkness of the room.

"Don't move!"  I said in a 'mess with me and die' voice.  Quite the linguist when scared shitless, eh?

"Please!  Don't shoot!" said an obviously terrified masculine reply.  I took one hand from the Ruger and flipped on the light.  

The person I was pointing my gun as was none other than my cute li'l assistant, Rook Pawnton.  So much for stopping a big, bad criminal menace.  Ugh.

"Rook, give me one good reason why I shouldn't fire your ass right now," I groaned, shoving the Ruger back into the holster and buttoning up my jacket.

Rook looked pathetic.  More pathetic than I'd ever seen him, and that was saying something.  "Dr. Devereaux, please listen to me!"

I crossed my arms.  "That's not a good reason.  Strike one."

"Hear me out!  I got off work about 2 hours ago, right?  So on my way home I decided to stop by the store.  I bought some food, went home, put it away, and jumped in the shower.  I was about halfway through 'rinse and lather' when I remembered that I'd left my girlfriend's house key at the lab.  Since she wanted me to visit her tomorrow, I knew that she'd chew my ass out if I didn't have her key.  It's a spare, see, and she doesn't want them just floating around.  So I decided to come back.  I went to my office, but I remembered that I left the key in the morgue.  A little while after I was looking, the lights just went out.  I tried to get back over to the light switch, but I tripped over that stool-" he pointed to a small, knocked-over stool to the side, "and before I knew it, you were pointing a gun at me.  I didn't mean anything, I swear!  Please, don't fire me!"

I narrowed my eyes.  Rook was a cute kid but didn't know when to leave well enough alone.  It would serve him right if I'd fired him.  But then again, he was just a college kid, and he wouldn't have anywhere to go.  People's lives get ruined over little mistakes and temper meltdowns like this.  Damn my morals to hell.

"Rook, I should fire you," I said in my most disciplinary voice.  "You're only an intern, and you have no right to enter this building after hours.  In fact, you shouldn't even have a key.  I don't want to know how you got in, because that would constitute another offense- breaking and entering.  You should know better.  Also, you were strictly told not to enter the morgue unless accompanied by an employed member of the staff.  I really ought to fire you.  No, I ought to file a police report against you, Rook."  

Whatever color was left in Rook's face left it.  I couldn't keep this up.  Damn my morals to hell.

"But since I know how trying relationships are, and since I do know that this is the only interning opportunity you'll get for a while, I'm willing to let this go."  Damn my morals to hell.

Color slowly seeped back into Rook's face.  "Really?!"

"Really."  I let a smile twitch at the corner of my lips.  I was playing buddy-buddy.  Damn my morals to hell.

Rook looked like Christmas had come early.  My morals suddenly disappeared.  Maybe they went to hell like I'd asked.

"But!" I said, waggling a finger, "You get to help me.  I haven't had the best day either, you know, and the sooner we get done, the sooner we can go home.  And if you don't help…I'll have to tell some of my superiors about your…troubles…at home and in the office.  Are you okay with this?"  I added a challenging tone to that last sentence.  Blackmail is a sweet, sweet thing.

"I'm okay with this."  Rook looked exhausted.  He could deal with it.  After all, I had to.  Why shouldn't he?

***

An hour later, we were done.  Rook had some tissue samples from Alessa's wounds and was sending them to the lab first thing in the morning.  I finally finished my reports.  We locked up the downstairs and headed for the front door, keeping the communication to a minimum.  It was after midnight, neither of us really had the strength to talk.  But Rook somehow found some extra energy tucked away somewhere.

"Be careful, Dr. Devereaux," Rook said doggedly as we reached the front entrance.  "Cybil Bennett- the cop who went crazy after she went to Silent Hill- just escaped from the Kipling Institute for the Criminally Insane today.  She's supposedly armed and dangerous.  Be on your guard, ma'am."

I nodded.  "You too.  Don't worry about me."  We pushed open the front door and I locked it behind us.  "I don't think we're on Cybil's hit list, anyway.  Go home to your girlfriend."  I started to walk away.

"Girlfriend…uh oh.  Dr. Devereaux, do you have-" he was cut off after I took a small brass key out of my pocket and threw it over my shoulder.  He undoubtedly caught it.  "Thanks, ma'am!  Good night!" he called after me.

Good night.  What words.  If only they'd been true.

***

I was small in the dream.  Five, maybe six.  I couldn't tell.  There was a car, crumpled like a piece of silvery paper in the light.  I crawled inside the passenger seat and my hand felt something wet.  I looked down and saw my fingers smeared with crimson.  There were spots of blood all over the tan seats.  I looked up at the windshield and saw it shattered.  It looked like a crystalline spider web.  Shaking, I looked over at the driver's seat and saw it empty.  Mom had been thrown out the window to die on the grassy incline below.  I looked to the backseat.  I saw myself, the real me, strapped to the plush seat that had been shoved up several feet, crushing my little legs against the back of the passenger seat.  I got out of the car.  Something smelled…something that wasn't supposed to be there.

_New death?_

I smelled new death.  It didn't fit.  This was only a dream, and dreams didn't smell.  So I woke up.

Good thing I did.

Blinking my eyes several times, I managed to make out a figure silhouetted against the drapes.  Quietly, I felt my way towards my Ruger that was still in the shoulder holster, but was draped on the corner of the wooden headboard.  I felt the cool rubber grip and slowly eased it out of the holster.  I held the Ruger in a two-handed grip, sitting up and leaning back on the headboard for support.  Now I could shoot comfortably.  Good for me.  Now I could address whatever idiot was there.

"Don't move."  'Don't move' is better than 'Freeze', and not so cliché.  The figure didn't move.  Smart.  I reached over and brushed the metal of my touch lamp beside the bed.  Light illuminated the room, revealing a young woman.  Short, messy blonde hair, eyes the color of dirty ice, and an almost skeletal figure.  Her appearance, though almost anemic, didn't scare me.  What scared me was the .38 Revolver in her hand, pointed directly at my chest.  Before I could do anything, she fired at me.

It's not fun being shot at.  I don't know how I dodged the bullet, but the next thing I knew, I was on the floor on the opposite side of the bed, and feathers were flying.  I pulled myself to a knee, swung my arms over the side of the bed, and aimed the Ruger directly at the girl's skull.  "Don't move, I said!  Put the weapon down and put your hands on your head!"  The girl didn't respond.  I repeated the command, in a not-so-nice tone this time.  "Put the gun down and put your hands on your head!  Now, dammit!"

The girl spoke.

"No…I won't let you bring it back…" she raised the gun again.  "I won't let you…bring it…back…"

"Bring what back?"  I stood up, still pointing the Ruger at her.

"Samael…get out of here!  Get out of here!"  The girl kicked my dresser, hard.  Several small items fell off, including the videotape of Lisa.

"Calm down!  Who is Samael?" I asked, trying really hard not to shoot now and ask questions later.

"I WON'T GO BACK!  I WON'T GO BACK TO HELL!"  The girl was screaming her words now.  Uh oh.  From every movie I saw that involved psychos, when they started yelling, that usually meant that someone was about to die.  Shit.  Then I remembered what Rook said, about the crazy police officer on the loose.  The one who was raving on about Silent Hill and demons and hell on Earth.  _Cybil Bennett._  Double shit.

"Cybil…you calm down RIGHT NOW and put the gun down!"  I was still trying to remain cool and in control.  It wasn't working.  Cybil hesitated for a second.  Maybe it was the sound of her name that made her stop.   She started to walk towards me.  Damn.

"I…I can't…shi-ne na wa iya…SHI-NE!"

That moment was flooded with a sharp pain, because that was the moment that Cybil chose to shoot me.  My vision immediately began to fog up.  I couldn't feel any pain, but I could feel total and complete numbness.  Numbness in the right side of my body.  I couldn't move my right arm.  My shooting arm.  Shit!  I had no idea what I was thinking, but I seem to remember transferring my gun to my left hand and shooting in Cybil's general direction many, many times.  I think I emptied my entire clip into her.  I collapsed on the floor.  The numbness went away and was replaced by a fiery burning sensation.  I liked the numbness better, I think.

"Shi…ne…iya…onegai…watashi wa kowaii…shi…ne…" It sounded muffled.  A side effect from being shot, I suppose.  Whoop dee dee for me: blurry vision, burning pain and hearing problems- three for the price of one, what a deal.

I heard a thump across the room, which I assume was Cybil dropping like a stone.  Yay, I beat the bad guy.  A zillion brownie points to me.

My moment of Kira's Great Triumph was cut short by my vision fizzing out and the burning sensation being replaced by raw, sheer agony.  I gasped several times from the pain and finally retched on the carpet.

After that I couldn't remember much because I passed out.

I woke to sirens.

~~~

More reviews=More chapters!  …which I'd still post regardless, cause I enjoy the heck out of writing this!


	7. Chapter Seven: Tomb

A/N:  Please don't kill me!  Cybil died for a reason!  Trust me!  Really!

Score!  I'm done with SH2!  He he.    
Since Silent Hill is a Japanese game, I thought it should be only fair that someone spoke a bit of the language.  Translation, through my dabbling in the language, would be something along the lines of:  
  
"Shi-ne na wa iya"= I don't want to die   
"Shi-ne!"= DIE!   
"Shi…ne…iya…onegai…watashi wa kowaii…shi…ne"= Die…no…please…I'm scared…die…

Yes, someone wants someone to die.  But that first someone go bye-bye, ne?

Thanks to all who have reviewed so far!  You should be knighted for staying with me this long!  Things are gonna really heat up soon, I promise!

Cheers,  
~Rumer

  
Autopsy Report: Chapter Seven

I dreamed.  I dreamed of sirens blaring in my ears and darkness so thick it seemed to squeeze the air out of my lungs.  I remember thinking something along the lines of 'who died and went to hell'?  I suppose it didn't really register that it was me.  The darkness was suddenly illuminated by a sheen of bright light, revealing the modest suburb streets of Silent Hill.  Absolutely lovely.  The light I saw was moving.  I walked towards it.  'Go to the light, Kira', my ass.  The light led me to an abandoned building, where light shone through smoky windows in brilliant flickers.  I found an opening in, and I entered.  When I got inside, I saw the freakiest scene imaginable.  A middle-aged man with a metal pole stood with a flashlight affixed to the front of his jacket.  Surrounding him were several human-looking creatures, but not really.  Like they'd somehow missed a step in the evolutionary period.  It didn't matter anyway, because a fresh, sharp wave of pain radiated through my consciousness, shattering the dream.  Part of me was glad; it freaked the hell out of me.  I thought I'd have preferred the dream to the pain, but that was the stupid me talking.  And yes, there is such a thing, believe it or not.  The stupid me was what got me shot in the first place.  

It's not fun being shot.  The pain is so great that you can't focus on anything at all.  You just drift in and out of consciousness.  I seem to remember opening my eyes briefly enough to register that I was on a gurney being loaded into an ambulance.  Oh yeah,  and thinking that whoever made those flashing lights on the tops of ambulances should be shot.  Hey, then they'd get to go through what I was going through and they'd agree with me.  Bully for me.  Sirens filled my ears, clouded my thoughts.  Some distant part of me that I could barely access said that the sirens I heard weren't the ones on the ambulance, but before I could give a crap about anything at the moment, I lapsed back into darkness.

I remember waking some in the operating room.  But I couldn't open my eyes.  That was really frustrating; I could feel someone poking around my innards, but I couldn't see who it was.  I'm one of those people who like to see who they're hitting.  But sadly I couldn't move a muscle.  It's the worst feeling in the world, being totally helpless.  But since I was obviously pumped full of anesthetics, I didn't give a flying fuu about anything at the moment.  So I fell back into the black abyss of unconsciousness.  Fun.

I have no idea how long I drifted.  But I do remember suddenly snapping my eyes open, completely awake and raring to go.  I sat up-and immediately lay back down.  The pain that shot through my chest when I moved was enough to wake a cry in the biggest bully on the block.  I fought down the urge to scream by just uttering a few cries and gasps.  I know what you're thinking: 'Aww, the big, bad forensic pathologist can't handle a widdle bitty bullet wound?'.  Shut up.

I clutched at my side and found I was no longer wearing my jammies.  Well, they weren't jammies in the first place, just a pair of dark blue boxers and an oversized gray t-shirt with the NYPD Athletic Department logo emblazoned across the front.  In any case, they were gone, replaced by a light blue hospital gown.  I hated hospital gowns with a passion.  You have to be completely nude underneath them, and I tried not to think about how I even got into the gown.  Things like that were best left alone.  I pulled my left arm through its sleeve and into the main part of the gown, feeling for the hurt.  I found bandages wrapped around my entire chest.  Good, at least I wasn't completely nude.  Considerate of them.  Well, that's what half of what I thought.  The other half screamed, "Perverts!"  But these were hospital people doing their job, so I let it go.  It's not good to hurt people who do what they're told.  I found the hurt to the far right of my chest, almost a graze except for the fact that the wound was in at least two inches from the air.  Whatever Cybil shot at me must have been small or it would had completely blown away my chest cavity.  That surprised me; revolvers usually pack quite a punch.

I started to rub the hurt gently, trying to ease the pain.  What I wound up doing was getting some slick liquid smeared on my fingers.  I rummaged for the sleeve again and poked my hand through.  When I brought it into the light, I saw my fingers smeared with blood.  Great.  Gritting my teeth, I reached for the "Help" button on the wall.  My finger found and pushed the little red button, smearing it with a slightly darker red.  At least I did something for the décor.  Bully for me.  The pain suddenly reached its zenith.  So, being the sensible person I was, I passed out.  That sure beat battling pain for hours on end.  I filed it for future reference.

The next time I woke up it was barely light out, and I felt higher than a kite.  I looked at the IV hookup and read that I was now receiving a continuous flow of morphine.  Wonderful.  Not only was I hurt and immobile, I was now also drugged beyond belief.  How peachy.  I looked around my room with fogged vision and saw that some time had passed since my last visit to the land of the living.  I gave a groggy laugh.  Me, inactive?  Funny.  Really funny.  I was one of those people who had to be doing something every second or I get really edgy.  I craned my neck to see around the dim room better.  I could make out a bunch of fire lilies, some hibiscus plants, and some cards.  Wasn't that just too sweet.  Someone thought of me.  It made me want to cry.  Really.  

Suddenly I felt really lightheaded, almost nauseous.  So this time I threw up, then passed out.  Doing something different every time.  Good for me.

I woke up presumably a day later, considering the time I was out.  When you're unconscious, an hour can seem like a second, and in this case, I was unconscious for about eight seconds.  Woo hoo.

As if on cue, a nurse walked in the room, balancing a food tray in one hand and a tray of needles in the other.  Immediately, I seized up.

_Needles?_

I fought to keep a scream down.  I hated needles.  _Hated them._  Yeah, some people have a slight phobia, right?  Mine is a full-blown, bed-wetting, near-death-experience fear.  Guess how enthusiastic I was about getting a shot, if not several?

Almost as enthusiastic as the nurse was when she saw I was awake.  Yeah, we were both pretty much unconscious by that point.  Except I passed out from fear.  I don't know what she passed out for, but my reason was better.  Ha.

***

About an hour later, after the needles were done and disposed of (they had thought to inject me while I was unconscious; smart people!), I woke up to stare into the faces of several concerned-looking doctors.  After much questioning and much explaining, I finally had a grip on what had happened.  The bullet that Cybil had fired had punctured my left lung.  I was not a happy camper, so they said.  For a while, they said they'd given up hope on me.  Me, die?  Naw.  They managed to keep my lung from collapsing, which was good.  I spent over a week in surgery before being sent to my room, the immediate recovery ward.  Sad to say, all my work was being dumped on Dr. Lecter.  Not that the man had other things to do, but hey.  Nothing from Silent Hill had been on his list of autopsies, and I was happy.  Silent Hill had to be a hell of a creepy place.

That was all fine and dandy to me, but I figured out why that silly nurse collapsed.  The doctors had previously ruled that I would probably not wake up until several months later.  That's me, beating the quota.  Sheesh, didn't these people know who I was?  Cybil, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky.  Turns out I had emptied my entire clip into her, just as I thought.  My Ruger is filled with Glazer safety rounds, with can take off a limb with a single glancing shot.  I made sure to send Cybil's family a nice card.  "Dear Mr. And Mrs. Bennett, I'm sorry to say I shot and killed your daughter, but she shot me first.  I hope this card makes up for it."  How tactful.  But then, that's me entirely, right?

***

Approximately two days later, I was up and about again; ready to go back to work.  Whoopee.  Work, fun!  They have brainwashed me well.  That's fine with me.  I have my ways of remaining sane.  One of which would include requesting a questioning session with Harry Mason, the man who went insane after a seemingly innocent visit to Silent Hill.  I asked Dr. Lecter, as he was already a good friend of mine.

"Are you freaking insane?"

He took it better than I thought.

"Listen, Dr. Lecter," I said calmly, "I want to see if these homicides I've been being sent have any sort of connection at all.  To do that I want to get an inside opinion from a man who saw Silent Hill through different perspectives.  I'm sure there's a reason he came back insane.  I want to find out what it is.  If you have a problem with that, I believe you can go to hell."

There was a stunned silence as I finished my sentence.  It's normally not good to tell your superior to go to hell, but I'd done it more than once before.  The only reason I still had a job was because I was always right every time I'd said it.

"Okay, Kira…" Dr. Lecter said with an exasperated sigh.  "You can go.  Hell, this is supposed to be your vacation.  I'll tell you what.  You go to Silent Hill, and not on vacation time.  Consider this last week you took on vacation unspent.  It wasn't any vacation for you anyway."

You gotta love Dr. Lecter.  Such a nice man.  I told him thanks and left, promising a favor the next time he needed one.  Sure, add that one to the list.  Still, not many people had my promise of a favor when needed.  Not many people owed me favors, either, but the ones who did owe me owed me for something major.  Like saving a life.  One of these people would be my friend Jay Haley, who happens to be the director of the Kipling Institute for the Criminally Insane.  How convenient, eh?  Later that day, I gave him a call.  After the brief exchange of greetings ("You're not dead yet, I see."  "Keep comments like that up and you'll be taking my place."), I reminded him of his promise and he happily arranged a meeting ("No way, Kira!  You killed the last inmate who escaped, who knows what you'll do the rest?"  "Jay…if you don't do this, I will let it slip that you were the one who cheated during the election."), and graciously offered to take me to dinner beforehand ("I'm getting some Subway.  Want me to pick you up something?"  "Turkey and cheese combo, thanks.") which I humbly accepted.  That done, I hopped in my Audi and headed to the outskirts of the city.  Funny where mental institutions were located.  I suppose it's about an hour away from everything for a reason, but that didn't stop Cybil, did it?  My side ached just thinking about it.  I put it out of my mind as I rolled into the small parking lot for the nut house.

The building was tall, almost 250 feet to the tallest turret.  Almost like a torture tower taken right out of the medieval era, but sort of modern.  After all, King Arthur didn't have barbed wire back in his day.  The institution was made entirely of stone; some bits carved, some not.  It was a big building, about as big as a football field.  I refused to believe there were enough crazy people to fill the thing until I realized that it doubled as a prison.  Oh, so that's why it looked like a dungeon.  Oddly enough, it fit.

I walked through the big double doors and into the lobby of the institute.  The lobby had white walls and marble floor.  The temperature was so low I could see my breath.  Barely, but it could be seen.  I felt like I was trapped in an ice cube.  Before I could even ring the bell, Jay came out of his side office to the rear of the room.  He didn't seem overjoyed to see me, but he didn't look too hostile either.  I assumed that was a good sign.

"Dr. Haley," I nodded in greeting.  He returned the nod with a smile.

"Dr. Devereaux.  It's been a while."  He held up a plastic bag containing a Subway sub and a bag of Ruffles.  My dinner, woo hoo.  "Come on back to the office.  It's not good to leave people waiting in the lobby."  How considerate.  I followed him to his office, plastic bag in hand.  The large office was just how I'd remembered it.  A polished mahogany desk sat to the side of a large window, several bookshelves lined the walls containing titles like _Strategies of Psychotherapy _and _Schizophrenia and You: Dealing With Your   
Other Selves_, and vivid oil paintings of landscapes hung on the pale blue walls.  He closed the door behind me and motioned to a leather-padded chair in front of the desk.  Crème de-la crème.  "I'm sorry for my reluctance to return the favor, Kira, but you have to understand my position," he said, sliding into another leather chair behind the desk.  "During the past week, there's been nothing but havoc here.  Inmates have been acting aggressively to the extreme.  I've had to hospitalize two nurses after two different patients nearly beat them to death with broken off table legs.  Then with Bennett escaping and her death, it's been a veritable hellhole.  Especially where you're going."

I chewed a bite of my sandwich thoughtfully.  "Where am I going, Doctor?"

Jay looked grim.  "The below-ground holding block.  Or the Tomb, as we call it.  That's where we put the criminally insane patients."

I gulped down some coke and popped the last of the sub into my mouth.  "Is there any major danger as long as I don't go in any cells?"

"No, I don't think so, but just the same.  There's always that one time, you know?"

I nodded.  "I do know.  I appreciate your concern, but I sort of want to get this done and over with.  Then I'll be out of your hair.  Okay?"

Jay stood up.  I followed suit.  "Okay," he said, "but half an hour.  That's it.  That's all I can give, Kira.  I'd make it longer, but under the circumstances…" he trailed off.  I let him.

"Lead the way, Doctor."  I stood and brushed off a few crumbs that had fallen on my lap.  They stood out plainly on the ivy green skirt and blazer.  Jay strode out of the office, locking the door as soon as I'd followed.  He led me down a veritable maze of passages, going deeper and deeper until we finally got to a double-gated hall.  It was relatively quiet.  Jay took a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the doors.  As soon as we'd stepped through, the gates slammed shut behind us.  I almost jumped out of my skin.  Jay raised an eyebrow.

"It's a precaution.  Nothing to worry about."  He walked to the end of the hall, and I followed.  We came to another set of gates.   A guard was standing beyond this set, and when Jay showed his ID and I mine, the guard carefully unlocked both gates and let us through.  Immediately I noticed the tiny room we were in contained a veritable arsenal of firepower.  Guns lined the walls, shock prods stood on stands on the counters.  Ammunition in the hundreds were stacked on the shelves.  I raised my eyebrows.

"I guess this is it, huh?"  I crossed my arms.  Jay nodded.

"Stay in the middle.  Mason's at the end of the row, on the right.  There should be a fold-out chair.  Good luck."  Without another word, the gates were unlocked, and he was gone.  Now it was just me, the guards, and the crazy old coots.  Lucky me.  One of the guards unlocked the door to the ward, and I stepped through.  The door slammed shut behind me.  That seemed to be a common occurrence.  I tried not to look in the cells as I walked down the hall to the far cell with the chair.  The inmates were either in awe of me or just sleeping.  I preferred the latter.  Either way, there wasn't a sound.  My heels clacked on the cold stone of the floor and I reached the cell.

Harry Mason was reclined on the small cot in the corner of the cell, hands clasped over his chest like a vampire.  His eyes were open, though, and he was supposedly staring at the ceiling before I came into sight.  Now they glanced over to me, mouth curling into a smile.  I suppressed a gasp.

I knew him.

The man from my dream.

Who says hospital dreams aren't accurate?

~~~

Reviews=More chapters!…which I'd post anyway.  So ha!


	8. Chapter Eight: Predictions

A/N:  Hmm…you know, _Strategies of Psychotherapy_ is an actual book (written by Jay Haley, might I add), so I figured I'd best disclaim that.  Jay Haley owns it.  I don't.  Fuu.  
But I own his evil twin.  He he.  Again, loopholes are fun.

Harry sounds like a gentleman here.  Being insane can do weird things to you.

Just to clarify- I was watching Home Alone when I wrote this.  He he.  I love the blowtorch over the door and the ornaments in front of the window.  Why is this movie on in the middle of July?  I have no idea.  The same reason it snows in Silent Hill when there's a heat wave everywhere else.  Oh my.  There's a lovely little nugget of joy for you people…

Cheers,  
~Rumer ("Why the hell d'ja take yer shoes off?" "Why the hell are you dressed like a chicken?")

Autopsy Report: Chapter Eight

Harry Mason hesitated a moment on the cot before gracefully getting to his feet.  He was tall.  About 6'5" or so, give or take a few inches.  Thick, matted black hair hung slightly in his eyes, giving the impression of shadows across his face.  Spiky, toothy shadows, but shadows nonetheless.  At one point he had been an extremely attractive man, there was no doubt about that.  He looked almost underweight, but not quite.  I was surprised; most people lose a lot of weight in prison.  Either he hadn't been too thin to start with, or he'd been eating all he'd been given.  Considering the status of prison food, I leaned toward the latter.  Prison food is just a step below cafeteria slop, and I am just one of the many who believe the cooks there have to go to a special school just to learn how to turn perfectly good food into glue.

His eyes.  His eyes were an absolute piercing hazel.  You could tell the color, but it was the intensity behind the colors that sent a shudder through my bones.  I wasn't sure, but I thought I could pick out a ring of gold encircling each of his pupils.  The shadows cast over them made the gold seem to glow slightly.  I ignored the impulse to shudder and put on my best professional smile.

"Mr. Mason," I said crisply, "my name is Dr. Kira Devereaux.  I'm a forensic pathologist at Brahms.  If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you a few questions."

Harry closed his eyes and smirked to himself, eyebrows arching in a sneer.  He kept silent for a moment, but then answered in a clear voice with an almost manipulative tone.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Devereaux.  Charmed.  Enraptured.  Honestly, I am.  What could possibly bring you to the abode of the lowest persons of the populace?  Surely it isn't just to see me.  Am I right?"  He opened his eyes on the last phrase.  The gold seemed to dance around his eyes now. "Or are you just here to poke fun at me?"

I closed my eyes and opened them again.  "No one will be poking fun at anyone, Mr. Mason.  May I please sit down?"

Harry extended a graceful hand.  "Please.  Sit.  I don't mind in the least."

"Thank you."  I sat on the little metal chair.  "As you probably know, there have been a great number of Silent Hill-related murders lately…and since you had several preternatural…experiences…in the town, I'd like to ask you if you know anything about the unusual homicide rate."

Harry sat on the edge of his cot as gracefully as a cat.  He gave a little snicker.  He looked directly into my eyes, sending a stare that would shatter diamonds.  "Ah, so _that_'s what Cybil was talking about.  Yes, she did mention happenings in Silent Hill again.  You see, she was made available to the local paper, so she knew all about your little escapades.  She relayed the information to me, as friends do, and would I be correct in saying that you don't have any idea as to what you're doing?"  His eyes never left mine for an instant.  It didn't occur to me to look away.  Damn the matriarchal dominance factor.

"In a nutshell, Mr. Mason, that's exactly right.  That's why I'm coming to you."

Harry gave a tsk of disapproval.  "You're lying.  I can see when you lie.  Tell me; have you visited Silent Hill?"

I nodded.  "Once before.  Only once."

"You know Kira- may I call you Kira?"

"Of course, Mr. Mason."

"Oh, call me Harry.  Anyway, Kira, it would be better for you to stop lying.  It is unbecoming for a pretty young woman such as yourself."

I'm one of those people who are unfazed by flattery.  We just don't believe it.  Good to have handy at times, now being one of them.  "Young, I'll believe.  And how do you know I'm lying?"

Harry smirked.  "It's an age-old technique.  But you are, correct?"

I suddenly became interested in my shoes.  "I was in a car accident with my mother just inside the city limits a long time ago.  That's the only other time."

Harry sat up, a triumphant smile on his face.  "Now that wasn't so hard, now was it?"

I shot Harry a weak glare.  "Enough.  I've answered several questions for you.  Now you do the same for me."

Harry held up both hands in defeat.  "Fine.  Ask away, miss forensic pathologist.  I'm waiting."

"Silent Hill.  When you went there last, did you notice anything different?"

Harry stared at me for a second, then burst into a peal of laughter that subsided in a few moments.  "Kira, the last time I answered that question, it got me in here.  I will not answer it twice."

"I assume you were talking to the police that time.  I'm not the police.  I'm not the FBI.  I work at a hospital, and if anything, I'm curious.  Honestly, anything you say here will stay here.  You have my word of honor."

"Never assume, Kira.  When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me.  I know that quite well."

I was beginning to get pissed.  "I'm sure you do, Harry.  May I please rephrase the question?"

"Rephrase all you like."

I took a deep breath and spoke.  "I'd like you to tell me in detail why you were going to Silent Hill and the events that followed.  You were at one point a resident of Thorstad, that I am certain.  That's at least a day away.  I'd like you to tell me why you went."

Harry smirked to himself.  "That's a bit better, Kira.  I'm impressed.  Truly, I am.  I was on my way to Silent Hill for a quick visit.  I'd promised my daughter that I'd take her there.  On the outskirts, I also got into an accident.  So alike, you and I.  In any case, I was knocked unconscious, and when I awoke, my daughter was gone.  I went to look for her."

"Did the town look…different…in any way?"

"If you count fog and snow in the middle of July, then yes, it did look different."

"Was there anything else?"

Harry gave a snicker and lay back on the cot.  "Dear, dear Kira, if seeing is believing, and believing is seeing, where do hallucinations fit in?"

I blinked.  "What do you mean by that, Harry?"

Harry suddenly sat up and fixed me with that piercing gaze again.  "According to the doctors here including your friend Dr. Haley, all that I saw were hallucinations."

"Do you believe they were hallucinations?"

Harry was silent.  I asked again, "Do you believe they were hallucinations?"

Harry stood up and leaned very close to the bars.  I could see his eyes up close now, and they did have those rings of gold in them.    He whispered, "People like you live on the edge, Kira.  The problem is, I fell off into the chasm long ago.  Good day to you."  He stood back up, walked back to his cot, and lay down.  I could tell that was his way of saying 'thanks for coming, please fsck off now'.  I stood up and turned to go.  As I made my way down the hall again, I heard the scuffle of feet and heard a voice.

"Kira!  One last thing before you go, if you please!"

I trotted back to the cell and stood beside the chair.  Harry stood at the bars, as close as he was the last time he talked to me.

"I predict you will be seeing my daughter soon, Kira.  I think…she will be a client."

"What do you mean, Harry?"

"Kira!"  Another voice called down the hall.  "Time's up!  Come on back!"  Good ol' Jay.  I turned my attention back to Harry.  He'd gone back to his cot, but he was looking at me with his fixed gaze again.  Hands clasped, back bent over slightly.  He had a strange little smile on his face.

"Thank you for your time, Harry.  I hope all goes well for you."

"And for you, Kira.  I believe that I shall be seeing you again."  I walked away from the cell quickly, but I could still feel his hazel eyes etched with gold piercing my soul.

***

I was getting into my Audi when my cellphone rang.  I picked it up.

"Devereaux."

"Dr. Devereaux, this is Elwood Lecter."

"Hello, Dr. Lecter, I just got finished.  I'm heading back now."

"Good, because you have a job waiting for you when you get back."

"Female?"

"Yes."

"Silent Hill related?"

"Again, yes."

Shit.  "Anything else?"

"I hope you don't have any scruples about performing autopsies on children."

Double shit.  I hated dissecting children.  It's never fair how they died.  "Name?"

"Actually, yes.  We just took a blood sample; it's been analyzed.  Her name is Cheryl Mason."

My heart skipped a beat.  "Pardon?"  I said, nearly choking on the words.

"Cheryl Mason.  We're checking to see if she's related to-"

"Harry Mason."  I finished breathlessly.  "It's his daughter."

"How did you know that?"  There was accusation in his voice.

"A hunch," I said quickly.  Whatever was said in the Tomb, stayed in the Tomb.  I keep my promises.

"Some hunch.  Anyway, you'd best get down here pronto."

"Of course."  I hesitated.  "What's the apparent cause of death?"

"I'd like to say-"

"-Burns?"  I was almost afraid to hear the answer.

"Yes and no. She looks burned…and ripped open."  A hint of disgust lined his usually sharp voice.

"Right," I choked, "I'll be there.  Ta."  I hung up.  
  


Bloody hell.

~~~

Reviews=More chapters!  Which I'd still post, 'cause this is getting good!


	9. Chapter Nine: Ridiculous and Unheard Of

A/N: The horrors of owning a kitten.  Excuse any typos in this chapter; it will be entirely the kitten's fault.  Wait, that's what spell-checker is for, right?  Yeah!

Kalevispetke- I wish you a happy and prosperous journey.  May the winds of luck fill your sails and send you to a happy destination.  (Gah, I sound like a fortune cookie, don't I?)

PUREvenom- 'Tis her style.  And furthermore, I respect any woman who can do the job Kira does while wearing a skirt.  And pumps, for that matter.

Yes, I know the last two chapters sounded like SotL.  It was purely unintentional, I assure you.  I would have posted a disclaimer if it was intentional.  Sorry for the confusion ^_^;;;  Speaking of disclaimers, Dr. Jaina Proudmoore is not mine.  She belongs to the people who made Warcraft 3.  (Bloody brilliant game, Warcraft 3.)  But considering she was an archmage in that game and a clinic director here, I s'pose that's allowed.  If not, then fuu on you.

Merci to all who have reviewed so far!  I owe you much thanks and many favors!  ^_^

Cheers,  
~Rumer ("KITTEN!  STOP BITING MY BOOKBAG!  ARGH!!!")

Autopsy Report: Chapter Nine

Silence filled the Audi as I floored it down the interstate.  Not that that was a bad thing; I had other things to worry about.  Like how in the Hell Harry's prediction came true.  It's been scientifically proven that crazy people all aren't insane; quite the contrary, they can be absolutely brilliant.  I decided that Harry was a good example of this theory.  He just had some sort of weird hallucination and just for telling people what he saw, he was thrown in the looney bin.  Still, if he'd come to me about Silent Hill being a hell on earth, I'd have told him he was crazy too.  Well, if that happened before I went there.  Now I'd agree with him.  Maybe not to the extreme, but I'd agree on Silent Hill being a pretty hellacious place.  Who wouldn't?

I decided not to dwell on the fact that Harry Mason was an eccentric and that I'd have to dissect his daughter in about an hour, so I popped in a CD.  The song that came on was Hybrid's "If I Survive".  I smiled to myself; it seemed fitting for this particular song to be playing.  The techno beat swayed my worries and soon I forgot all about what I was soon gonna have to face.  Sadly, the feeling of euphoria proved to be temporary when I got within a block from the clinic.  Oh yeah, I was supposed to do some actual work today.  Not the most savory work ever, but then, it was my choice.  No use complaining about it.  The only other children I had had to perform autopsies on were the kids who were poisoned by their parents during the whole Hale Bop Apocalypse incident.  That wasn't fun at all, considering how innocent the kids were.  I'd sworn to divvy whatever kids I was asked to do to other people, like Dr. Lecter.  That man has an iron constitution.  Well, so do I, but he just didn't have a soft spot for children.  Did that make him an ogre?  Naw.

I pulled in the parking lot and turned off the ignition.  Looking out the window, I was immediately met with the familiar flash of ambulance lights.  Yup, my work was waiting.  Without wasting another moment by thinking how I really didn't want to do this, I stepped out of the car and walked briskly past the ambulance and two police cars and entered the building.  I liked the clinic; there was no little bell or buzz that announced a new possible client.  It was a nearly unanimous vote when it came to that little matter.  It didn't make any difference; the second I walked through the door I was immediately attacked by several doctors and a cop.  Three of the doctors I knew nearly personally: Dr. Lecter, Dr. M'ai Ling, and cute little Rook.  The other doctor that met me was none other than my superior, Dr. Jaina Pridemoore.  The police officer was identified to be Bruce Drake by the little black nametag pinned on his shirt, and a gold-plated, five-pointed star badge proclaimed him to be the sheriff of this fine county.  Ooh, all the important people are here!  Lucky, lucky me.  Not really.

"Well, Dr. Devereaux," began Jaina, "you seem to have been busy these past few weeks, haven't you?"  From the tone of her voice, she sounded almost accusing.

"Yes, ma'am, I suppose I have been," I stated plainly. "considering that every body that I've received has come from Silent Hill, and that they all died horrible deaths."  Jaina nodded and motioned to Sheriff Drake.

"Yes, we've picked up on that.  That's why we opted to get a few police officers involved.  This is Sheriff Bruce Drake, hailing from Silent Hill itself.  He's kept tabs on all the missing people in the past year and all the bodies found matched precisely."  She flipped her hand over so it now pointed at Dr. Ling.  "Dr. Ling has been most cooperative, what with all the bodies coming through her care.  However, we're still unsure about what exactly is going on."  Sheriff Drake stepped forward.

"Ma'am, Dr. Lecter has told us that you went to question Harry Mason today."  I nodded in return.

"I have a tape of the session.  If you'd like to listen, be my guest."  I pulled a small tape recorder from my blazer pocket.  Jaina took it.  No, _snatched_ would have been a better word.  Jaina snapped open the recorder and took out the mini-cassette inside.  She handed the cassette to Sheriff Drake and handed the recorder back to me.  Note to self: Dr. Pridemoore owes me a mini-cassette.

"Thank you.  We've been studying your reports to the letter, and hopefully this will help."  Jaina motioned to the sheriff and Dr. Ling, and they shuffled off.  Back into the clouds, away from us mere mortals.  Pfft.  Can we say, 'spoilt brat', children?

I turned to Dr. Lecter and Rook.  They seemed grave.  Even Rook wasn't his usual spunky self, and that meant something was really wrong.

"Shit, Kira, the whole place is on edge," Dr. Lecter said in a gravelly voice.  "Since this kid came in, people are getting scared.  It's pretty clear that this isn't any coincidence or fluke."  I nodded.

"A fluke.  Yeah right," I said indignantly.  "Like it's a fluke that everyone I've dissected have," I ticked them off on my fingers, "One, all come from merry old Silent Hill; Two, they've all had drugs in their system, White Claudia to be exact; Three, they all went missing at the same time a while back; and Four, they didn't have the happiest deaths I've had the pleasure to see.  I'm actually starting to believe what Harry said."

Dr. Lecter's eyes widened a bit.  "Mason?  What did he say?"

I shrugged.  "He told me that he went to Silent Hill with his daughter, got in a car crash, went looking for her, went through hell, and never saw her again.  Your typical family vacation.  And when he tried to report it, they threw him in the nuthouse.  So, needless to say, he's not just a misunderstood little boy who just needs a hug.  From what I see, something's horribly wrong with that town."

Dr. Lecter's eyes narrowed.  "Hmm.  Was that all he said?"

"That's about it, except it was worded a bit differently."

"Listen to me.  This is getting to be way more than anything we'd thought possible, so what I suggest you do is this.  Go to the morgue and do your autopsy.  Go straight home afterwards."

I silently cheered.  Home, yay!

"Tomorrow I want you to go back to Harry and question him again.  What he told you today wasn't enough."

The cheering in my head stopped.

"Again?"  I shivered.  I didn't like asylums, especially Kipling.  Bit of a torture den for the mind, if you ask me.

"Again.  And I don't want you back in until you get something else that is a little more solid by way of evidence."

I nodded reluctantly.  "Fine.  But I want a real vacation when I get done.  No interruptions.  I want to get out of state for a while; I don't want cellphone calls at two in the morning telling me to get down to the clinic.  I think we both agree I've been through enough hell for a time.  Do we have a deal?"  I raised an eyebrow.  I could drive a hard bargain at times, and right now was no exception.

Dr. Lecter looked defeated.  "Fine.  Deal.  Just get it done.  I'll leave you alone for your whole vacation.  Scout's honor."  He raised three fingers in the scout salute.  Gods, he was a scout?  That was a bit hard to picture.

"Thanks.  I assume Rook's gonna be my little helper on this one?"  I cuffed Rook hard on the shoulders, making him jump.

"You got it.  Get going, Devereaux."  Dr. Lecter sauntered off.

I assumed an evil grin and turned to Rook.  "Ready, Rookie?  This isn't gonna be pretty, from what I hear."

"You heard right."  Rook turned slightly green.  "I've seen her."

"Well, let's be off, shall we?  Don't want to keep a client waiting, do we?"  I trotted down the hall.  I could hear Rook lagging along behind, obviously not too keen to go back to the morgue.  Who could really blame him?  I certainly couldn't.  Forensic pathologists and Forensic toxicologists are two entirely different things.  The only similarity is that they both deal with the corpse in question.  In different viewpoints, certainly.  But my viewpoint was a bit more aggressive.  Aggressiveness pays off big time in this business, and you either had it or you didn't.  I had it.  Rook, the poor boy, didn't.  I prayed for his soul every night.  Come to think of it, mine too.  You can never be too careful.  And when it comes to souls, it's no exception.

***

I snapped a pair of surgical gloves and flung on a lab coat over my snappy skirt/blazer set.  It's been proven that it's bad to get blood on a suit set.  The dry cleaner people ask questions, and it's a hell of a time trying to explain how your best white blouse got spattered with blood.  If you go with the old ketchup excuse, they don't believe you.  _Brzz_, wrong answer.  That's what those nifty do-it-yourself dry-cleaning sets are for.  It keeps nosy people from wondering.  And most nosy people have a hell of an imagination.

The morgue itself had been empty except for the more fearless of the interns.  I had shooed them off, promising them all a very verbal letter to their deans if they didn't keep their noses out of other people's business.  Now it was just Rook and myself, and Rook seemed none too eager to get started.  Poor baby.  But a baby nonetheless, so I decided to go easy.

"Okay, Rook," I said in a smooth voice, "Let's just go by the book, right down the list.  I don't want to prolong this any more than what's absolutely necessary."  I could tell he agreed by a bit of the color returning to his pale face.  I nodded.  "Okay then.  Let's have a look at her, shall we?"  I opened the freezer marked _Mason, Cheryl_ and pulled out the body-laden gurney.

If I hadn't seen worse before, I'd have thrown up on the spot.  Truth be told, that's what happened when I saw worse.  This just made me a bit queasy.  Cheryl was about 4'3", normal height for the typical eight-year old girl.  A bit more plump than most, but not fat.  Baby fat if anything.  She had at one point had short black hair and dark eyes.  Her skin had once been extremely pale.  Her hair now was extremely singed, eyes now filled with blood.  She almost looked possessed.  The skin…the skin had been extremely burned.  If there was anything beyond 3rd degree burns, she had the worst there could be.  The worst injuries were on her left side.  It reminded me of a picture I had seen where a Siamese twin baby had been ripped completely in half, separating the two children.  That was a corpse.  Her left side looked ripped apart, just like the Siamese twin.  Well, she had remnants of her left arm and leg, but mere scraps at most.  Fragmented bone.  Slivers of muscle.  She looked like someone had shoved her through a tree chipper, but only on the left side.  Twisted flesh, every inch of it.  I suppressed a shudder and turned to Rook.

"You weren't kidding, kiddo."  I shook my head.  "Shall we get started?"  Rook nodded weakly.  I picked a probe, scalpel, and a pair of forceps from a tray set up near the gurney.  "Where was she found?"

Rook's voice sounded squeaky, like a mouse.  How cute.  "In the West Garage on Toluca Lake.  A boat garage for the resort."

I made a midsagittal incision from the bend in the neck to the xiphoid process on the sternum.  "Any toxicology?  I was told you already got the sample."

"A drug, White Claudia."

"Thought so."  I made several transverse incisions at the top and bottom of the previous incision.  "She was the daughter of Harry Mason.  Any other history?"

"None that we know.  The average eight-year old child, except…"  Rook faltered.

I stopped cutting and turned to face him.  "Except?"

"A while ago she suffered severe burns from a house fire.  She recovered miraculously, but since then she's had immunities to flame."

I turned back to Cheryl and resumed cutting.  "A pyromaniac?  Firebug?  Is that what you're telling me?"

"That's right.  There has been evidence of several incidents dealing with fire that had been noted when the Mason's home was searched, so this is the reason."

"Huh.  Most firebugs die from spontaneous combustion, so this might be the case.  That's odd…are you filling out the report, Rook?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good."  I grasped one side of the incision with the forceps and pulled gently.  The flesh wouldn't move.  Odd.  "Rook, can you grab another set of forceps and help me?  Cheryl seems to be a bit modest about revealing her insides."  Rook did as he was told and latched on to the other side of the cut.  We both pulled.  The chest cavity began to reveal itself.

I knew something was wrong when smoke came swirling out of the opening.

The second we opened the chest cavity, we were both enveloped in a flash of flame.  I jumped back, crying out in alarm.  I could hear Rook doing the same, except not as gracefully.  I saw him on his rump on the floor, cowering.  The flame receded, and I edged forward again.  When I looked into the chest cavity, there wasn't much left to see.  Ash everywhere.  Only ash and a few blackened pieces of bone that were once ribs and spine.

_Spine…_

Part of the spine was missing.  I took a probe and poked around for a bit until what my probe hit was anything but skin.  It was canvas.

The gurney.

I removed the probe and took a step back.  I knew where this was headed.  I knew precisely what had happened.  I saw it before.

Alessa's back.

A gaping hole, like something had ripped out of her back.  The same.  Except Cheryl's left side was mangled as well.  I studied Cheryl's frozen face.  Then something dawned on me.

She looked an awful lot like Alessa.

A totally unheard of, ridiculous idea flashed through my mind.  _What if  they were one and the same person, but somehow had something rip out her back and were then separated?_

Ridiculous.

I looked at Cheryl and remembered Alessa.  Something was wrong with her right side, now that I thought of it.  A little bit deformed, but I'd written it off as a birth defect gone wrong because of the burns.

So much for a totally unheard of, ridiculous idea.

~~~

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	10. Chapter Ten: Famous Last Words

A/N: Awwright!  Chapter 10 at last!  Oh my, we're getting into the double-digit chappies.  Heh, this story has now officially become my baby.  Thank you all so much for hanging with me this long!  

My my, the 40-review mark has been broken!  ^_^ I tell you, folks, this fic would have just buggered off if it hadn't been for you lads and lasses.  I owe all of ye many thanks!

The references to Spam belong to Bill Engvall.  I highly recommend his comedy.  Don't drink anything while listening to him, or it'll come out your nose.  Yes, he's that funny.

Woo hoo!  Long chapter!  And for a reason…*evil grin*

Cheers,  
~Rumer ("Pork, water, and mechanically separated chickens.  Where I'm from, that's roadkill.")

Autopsy Report: Chapter 10

I usually don't drink coffee.  Never really liked the stuff.  The deepest I delved into the world of java only went to cappuccinos, and I was quite content with that.  But there I was, slugging down a to-go Styrofoam cup full of decaf.  Why?  I have no idea.  Maybe to help me concentrate on something other than the last few hours.  Yeah, I could have used a bit of nepenthe at the moment, and the closest that came to that other than a strong vodka was coffee.  Sure, drugs worked too, but I didn't want my system ripped to hell from one acid trip.  I prefer the coffee, thank you very much.

Balancing the cup of coffee in one hand and trying to steer with the other, I sped through the darkened streets of Brahms.  Finally, on my way home.  I just hoped that my apartment had been cleaned up.  When I'd left in the morning, the cleaning crew had promised to make it perfect, just like it had been.  I wanted to see how they defined perfect.  And my standards are exceptionally high.  I took another swig of java and blinked, trying to clear my contacts.  No use getting the re-wetting drops, I could see the apartment complex.  Home again, home again, jig-a-de-jig.  Good ol' Colonial Grand Apartment Complex.  1030 Grand View Boulevard, Brahms.  Probably one of the nicer apartments I've had the pleasure to inhabit.

I pulled into the complimentary parking garage and turned off the ignition.  Downing the last of the coffee, I opened the door and stepped out into the cool night air.  If anyone ever asked which time of day I preferred, night would have been my answer.  The day is far too chaotic for me.  But the past few weeks were slowly changing my opinion on that little matter.  I walked to the complex and headed up the stairs.  Room 302, that's me.  I took a set of keys from my pocket, selected the brass one that opened the door, and used it accordingly.

The apartment smelled like soap, fresh laundry, and vanilla.  I tossed my briefcase and jacket on the cream leather couch and pulled the Ruger from its shoulder holster.  Time to perform the customary check of the house.  I checked every nook and cranny, making sure that nothing was hiding unseen.  I'd started checking the house since Cybil made her unannounced visit.  I tend to kill people who show up at my door or who I find in my house without my say so, it's beneficial to both parties.  Sort of.

I quietly entered the bedroom, holding the Ruger in a two-handed grip.  I snapped the light on with one fluid motion.  The room lit up, exposing only my queen bed, dresser, nightstand, and desk.  I glanced in the corners; nothing.  I looked at the ground.  All the blood had been expertly cleaned from the creamy white carpet and my Oriental rugs.  Ha, my pillow had also been replaced.  I smiled to myself.  Then I headed for the bathroom.  I did the same thing as before, snapping on the light, and looking around.  Nothing.  The procedure repeated until every room in the apartment was deemed free of unwanted visitors, and I locked the door.  I never locked the door as soon as I got inside.  You never know when you need to make a quick exit.  Yawning, I stooped to the floor to pick up the mail.  One of the good things about this hotel was the mail service.  No community mailbox for us, no sir.  I scooped up the letters and stood up in one movement and walked to the kitchen.  I poured some water into my cappuccino maker and flipped the on switch.  The scent of cappuccino slowly filled the kitchen.  Letting the aroma fill my lungs, I slumped in one of the swivel chairs around my little kitchen table.  I picked up the little pile of mail and leafed through them nonchalantly.  Bill, bill, letter from the theater, bill.  I opened the letter from the theater and pulled out two tickets to Jekyll & Hyde.  I grinned.  My ticket order came through for the Broadway musical coming through town.  There were two tickets.  I hadn't remembered ordering two, but oh well.  Maybe I'd ask Dr. Haley to the show.  He'd get to give me another favor, and that would be most beneficial.

The cappuccino maker stopped gurgling.  I picked my favorite mug from the counter (A black mug with the words '_I may be a cold-hearted bitch but I'm good at it' _emblazoned on the side) and filled it with the mocha-colored liquid.  I took a sip.  Ah, lovely.  Cappuccino may not be the nectar of the gods but it was close.  

I was halfway through the mug when I heard the letter flap creak open and snap shut.  I put the mug down and headed to the door.  Mail, at this hour?  Surely you jest.  Sure enough, there was a brown, bulky envelope laying on the floor, directly under the mail slot.  I walked over and scooped up the envelope.  No return address; no address at all, in fact.  I felt the bulges in the envelope carefully.  I couldn't feel any wires at all, so I ruled out it being a bomb.  Never rule out any possibilities with an unmarked package unless you're absolutely sure.  I was absolutely sure.  Puzzled, I opened the door and peered out.  No one was there.  No one on either side of the door, no one down either hall.  Nothing at all.  Hmm.  I closed the door and locked it.  Turning my attention to the package, I walked back to the kitchen table and set my prize in front of my chair.  Snatching a pair of scissors from my designated odds and ends drawer, I snipped open an end of the envelope and gently tapped out its contents.

The first thing that fell out was a pyramid-shaped thing.  It looked like a cross between a trinket and a paperweight.  It was about two inches on each side, and had a square base with four sides slanting up to pyramid formation.  Each side was made up of four smaller triangles inside the larger one.  I toyed with the thing absentmindedly, admiring its rusted copper/bronze coloring.  After a few minutes of trying to figure out what it was and failing, I put the pyramid to the side and turned my attention to the other thing that fell out of the envelope.  It was a small, hand-held radio with an antenna.  Cute.  It had a clip on the back for fastening it to your belt and had no earphone ports.  Darn.  It looked like the sort of thing construction workers used.  It was a bit battered and chipped from use, and when I turned it on, nothing happened.  No music, no static, nothing.  Well, that sucked.  Annoyed, I put the radio with the pyramid and felt around the envelope for anything else.  Nothing.  I felt right down into the corners and found a slip of paper.  Curious as I am, I pulled it out.  One side was blank, but the other side had writing.  It was done in a graceful cursive with peacock-blue ink.  But that wasn't what scared me.

What scared me was the fact that it was from Harry Mason.  
  


_Kira,_

_You asked me about what happened in Silent Hill.  
I pray these will help you in your search for the   
truth.  
However, I must warn you that the consequences  
for delving too deeply are paid in something much  
more valuable than coin.  
Blood, in this case, is a worthy substitute._

_I wish you well on your research._

_Cordially,  
Harry Mason_

_P.S.  I'll be expecting you sometime around noon.  
Do try to be on time._

_  
_I put the note down with shaking hands and took a sip of my cappuccino.  So much for getting some sleep.

***

Approximately five refills of cappuccino later, I slumped over the kitchen table, defeated and victorious at the same time.  I'd called Dr. Haley and managed to wangle another questioning session with Harry tomorrow and 12 sharp.  Punctuality is my middle name, eh?  It was quite a feat; I had to promise him not only the ticket to the broadway, but dinner beforehand and another favor to top it off.  Usually I'm a shrewd bargainer, but under the circumstances, what I didn't need was his downright refusal of any terms.  So I didn't push my luck.  Note to self: Save your pennies, Kira.  You'll be living off broke food for a while.  Macaroni & Cheese, Hamburger Helper, and Spam.  Yum yum.  I particularly detested Spam.  After a long period of thought, I figured out that it was an acronym.  I also figured out what it stood for: Stuff Posing As Meat.  Hey, it's right on target as far as description goes.

Try as I might, I simply couldn't figure out what the little pyramid was.  I toyed with screwdrivers, pliers, and wrenches on it, trying to deduce what it could be used for.  Upon finding no holes or separation points anywhere, I decided it was a paperweight and left it at that.  When I examined the radio, I found that nothing was out of place, nothing missing or damaged.  It should have worked perfectly, but simply chose not to.  Even when I changed the battery, nothing happened.  Once I heard a faint echo of white noise, but that faded as quickly as it came.  Oh well.  If I couldn't make it work, no one could.  And I'm a little miss fix-it.  Repair books are wonderful things.  You learn as you go through life that it's a lot cheaper to repair your car's fan belt when you do it yourself.  Logical, no?

I downed the remains of my sixth refill and yawned.  It was 10:30 PM, time for good little girls to be heading to bed.  So, being the obedient girl I was, I went.  Maybe I _could_ get a bit of sleep before meeting a madman. You need your wits about you in that sort of situation, although I was beginning to doubt Harry's insanity.  Crazy men don't use the word 'cordially'.  That's a big hint right there.  Never ignore the details.  They alone could save your ass.  I knew that for a fact.

***

Believe it or not, I did manage to sleep.  And my oh my, I didn't dream.  Thank God.  I don't think I could have handled another dream.  In any case, I awoke feeling refreshed, and spent the morning trying to figure out what the hell I was gonna do at 12 PM sharp.  Because I wasn't planning on doing any office work today, I dressed in nice black jeans, an ivy green polo shirt, knee-high black socks and black leather riding boots.  My definition of casual differed from most peoples', but it usually didn't leave any bad impressions.  That was good.  You don't want potential clients to fear you before you can pick their pockets, do you?  Of course not.  And with prices these days, people guarded their purses.  They had to deem you trustworthy before they employed you.  Moi, untrustworthy?  Surely you jest.  I studied Dante, and I did not want to wind up somewhere in Judecca.  Hanging out with Cassius in the afterlife may sound cool, but you reconsider when you're submerged beneath an icy lake for all eternity.  Not my cup of tea.  Although those in Judecca would welcome one.  It gets cold down there, and they need all the heat they can get.

Smoothing back my hair, I grabbed my satchel and keys and headed for the door.  The satchel had all I needed for the day:  The pyramid, radio, recorder, notebook, pen, and a bit of money.  Oh yeah, and a gun.  A tiny Derringer, to be precise.  Not as conspicuous as the Ruger, and a hell of a lot more destructive.  One blast from that baby would find you kissing your abdominal organs goodbye, so that was my backup gun.  Besides a sawed-off shotgun and a mini-Uzi.  Of course, those had been gifts from a weapons maniac friend of mine.  I always considered him to be a connoisseur of the weapons business.  His house had more guns, swords, and other toys than both a medieval and nuclear base combined.  He'd also given me a set of throwing knives, which I had yet to try out.  I myself am in love with the martial arts, and have a black belt in karate to prove it.  People with my attitudes tended to get into a lot of fights, and only the lucky win some if any.  I suppose that would make me a miracle, because I've won every fight I'd ever been in.  It's developed a bit of a reputation, and it was a standard I had to live up to.  The people who couldn't protect themselves and had my attitudes couldn't maintain it.  Where are they now?  Oh, that's right: dead.

A few minutes later I was on the road, driving the hour trip it takes to get to Kipling.  As much as I wanted to take the scenic route, I'd promised to be on time.  Considering what I owed Jay already, he'd skin me alive if I'd altered it even a tiny bit.  Jay was like that, but it was worth it.  I was getting what needed to be done done, and that was all that counted.

I switched on the radio.  Flipping around the stations for a bit (happening upon "Desert Rose" and saying a loud "Like hell!"), I settled for a country station.  Yeah, the tough-as-nails forensic pathologist likes country.  Especially Clint Black.  The song I caught was one of my favorites, "Like the Rain".  Even though I didn't care for the subject of love, the song is just damned incredible.  I soon found myself singing along, and as if on cue, a formation of nimbus clouds formed directly ahead.  On the last refrain, raindrops started to spatter on the windshield.  What timing.  I switched on the wipers and drove on into the heart of the brewing storm.  Most people would get scared in a situation like this.  Not me.  I get mad.  Some people say you can't control nature, and I wholeheartedly agree.  My only problem is that people accept whatever they're dealt.  Not me.  I fight it and beat it.  My attitude?  Bring-it-on.  

I set my jaw and drove into the heart of the tempest.

***

An hour later I was standing in Jay's office.  I was soaked, but proud.  Heh, no storm could get the better of moi.

"You're drenched, Kira," Jay said, raising an eyebrow.  "That's perseverance for you."  He held out a small hand towel.  "Try to dry yourself.  It would be bad if you caught a cold and spread it among the patients."

"Not snow or sleet, rain or hail can stop Kira T. Devereaux from doing her duty."  I saluted, then took the little towel and patted at my hair.

"Kira T. Devereaux?" I stopped rubbing the towel on my head.  Oh no.  "What's the T. stand for?"

I began to feel myself blush.  I hated my middle name.  "Tabris."

"Hmm."  Jay grinned.  "What kind of a name is that?"

"Mine.  But if you don't shut up about it, I'll have to change it to 'kick-ass'."

"You probably would."  He chuckled.  "Kira Tabris Devereaux.  Doesn't really flow, does it?"

I was getting pissed.  "Can I just go see Harry now?  It would be better for you to let me do my business and leave before the director's position gets unexpectedly vacant.  Know what I mean?" I said, looking daggers at him the whole time.

Jay held up both hands in surrender.  "You win.  Let's go."

So again we made the trek to the Tomb.  Nothing had really changed.  The stone was still stone, the metal still metal, the mildew smell still smelled like mildew.  We got to the guard station quickly and quietly, just like last time.  There was still a hell of a lot of guns and ammo, just like last time.  Harry was still in the last cell, just like last time, and there was a chair in front of it, just like last time.  My, the mundanity of it all.  Before I went through the last gates, though, I switched on my pocket recorder and put it in my coat pocket.  Blackmail manufacturing device ready to go.  I reached Harry's cell and found him leaning on the wall with one arm, the other on his hip.  One leg crossed over the other, and I was almost shaken by the casuality of his demeanor today.  He wore a smirk on his lips and a fiery glare in his eyes.  Yep, they still had the ring of gold.  His hair had gotten a tad greasier, though, so it shone with an oily glare.

"You're seven minutes late, Kira.  I was wondering what was keeping you."  Nope, Harry hadn't changed either.

"There's a storm raging outside.  I was a bit delayed from the weather.  And from my watch, I'm only two minutes late.  Be happy I came at all."

Harry gave a short laugh.  "You would have come anyway.  You were told to, weren't you?  Not by me, but someone else."

I raised an eyebrow.  "Yeah.  My boss.  I didn't give a damn about what you thought."

"But you came when I told you to.  That's rather fascinating."

"Cut the small-talk.  I came to ask you about these."  I reached in my satchel and pulled out the pyramid and the radio.  "Seeming that you sent them to me, I thought that you'd know what they were."

"Oh, you brought my little gifts?  Good.  Well, it's quite simple, really.  The pyramid there is a holy relic, and the radio is a detector.  That's all."

"Please, explain."

"Certainly.  The relic you have in your left hand is called a Flauros.  It is named after the fallen angel, Flauros, and it is used to contain/exorcise demons.  The radio in your right hand sends out a signal every time you meet an enemy.  It works on a…subliminal level, if you will.  Both items were with me while I stayed at Silent Hill."

I hoped the recorder was getting this.  "Did you use them?  And for what purpose?"

"Hmm.  The radio detected my enemies when I roamed the town, and the Flauros ensnared the main enemy for me.  It is a relic of very powerful positive astral omnipresence, an avatar of justice and judgment.  Although…I did regret doing so later."  Harry looked away.

"What does all the holiness have to do with it?"  I asked quickly.

Harry fixed his stare on me again.  "Let's test your knowledge of angels, shall we?  Do you know who Samael is?"

I shook my head no.

"Samael is considered both an evil and good angel, he is known as the chief ruler of the fifth heaven. He was known to be the angel sent by God to carry the soul of Moses at the time of his death.  Therefore, he is an angel of death.  However, he was a fallen angel, and was within the ranks of Lucifer himself."

"A demon," I murmured.

"Correct.  Now, did you know there was a cult that existed in Silent Hill a long time ago…and that most of the townspeople were members?"

I was flabbergasted.  Again, I shook my head no.

"People would hold religious ceremonies and would perform sacrifices to Samael.  And about twenty-two years ago, they decided to create Samael reborn in the body of a newborn child."

Okay, now this was getting ridiculous.  But I was curious.  I nodded, encouraging him to continue.

"A child was born.  She matured, and with her the demon grew as well.  However, when the time of the summoning was upon them, the cultists discovered that the child contained only half of Samael's spirit.  Raging from their error, they burned the child to near death.  They meant to kill her, but somehow, the child wouldn't die.  The spirit of Samael wouldn't allow death quite yet.  So the cultists made another child.  The other half.  And the other half was what I went to Silent Hill to find."

I stifled a gasp.  He had gone looking for his daughter.  "Cheryl…" I said softly.

"That's right.  You're on the ball today, Kira.  Now tell me.  Who do you think the other half was?  You've had her as your client recently."

I thought.  I tried to remember all the autopsies I'd performed, and found myself remembering Alessa.  How I thought that she had no reason to die except for her burns…

"Alessa…?"  I said nervously.

"I say, Kira, you're sharp as a tack.  I was thinking to give you three guesses.  But there was no need, as you can see.  The rest I'll leave you to figure out.  Compare DNA.  Do your thing.  You'll figure out everything else on your own."  Harry turned his back on me and walked slowly to the back of the cell.

"Harry!"  Harry stopped.

"Who were the cultists?"  I said softly, but forcefully.  "Tell me.  Please."

Harry looked over his shoulder and gave me a sly grin.  "Do what I said, and you'll find out.  You're a smart girl.  It shouldn't take you long.  I don't think I'll be seeing you anytime soon.  That's fine…that's how it's meant to be."  He hesitated.  "You never did tell me your full name, Kira."

"Kira T. Devereaux."

"Tsk tsk.  What a middle name.  T."

"It's Tabris."  I winced.  "I hate it."

Harry turned around with a surprised expression on his carved features.  "An angelic name and you don't like it?  Pity.  The most important names are always wasted on the ignorant."  Seeing my aghast expression, he added, "Tabris is the angel of free will.  You should be proud to have a name like yours."

"After your speech about angels turning to demons, I don't think so."

Harry sighed.  "Sacred mind, degraded by logic.  Go about your business, miss forensic pathologist."  He lay down on his cot and turned to face the wall.  That was apparently my signal to leave.

"Goodbye, Harry Mason."  I walked away down the hall without looking back.  Some angel I am.

***

Somehow I managed to get back to Brahms without a hitch.  It had stopped raining, which left the roads a bit slick, but nothing unmanageable.  In total silence I guided the Audi into the clinic parking lot.  I parked and headed into the building.  Immediately, I made my way to Dr. Lecter's office.  When I got there, I knocked twice and entered.  "I have some things that might interest you, Elwood."

Elwood pushed up his designer glasses and looked at me with an icy stare.  "Did you talk to Mason?"

"I did.  I got more than I bargained for, too."  I put the mini-cassette, the Flauros, and the radio on the desk.  Elwood jumped up like he'd been shocked.

"Jesus, Kira!  You got solid evidence.  Stay here, I'll get Dr. Pridemoore."  He left the office quicker than a jackrabbit on a date.  He came back mere moments later with not only Dr. Pridemoore, but with Sheriff Drake as well.  Oh, great.  The more the merrier.  Jaina, of course, had something to say.

"Well done, Dr. Devereaux!  This should help us greatly."  She took the mini-cassette and put it in her pocket.  Note to self: Dr. Pridemoore owes me TWO mini-cassettes.  "Sheriff Drake, you can take the solid evidence.  Do your thing."  Jaina swept out of the room.  Dr. Lecter followed her.  Great, now it was just me and the sheriff of Podunk County.  He scooped the two items into two plastic baggies and put them in an attaché case that rested by the side of the desk.  Then he spoke.

"Miss, on behalf of the Brahms police department, I'd like to thank you for your contribution to this case.  I know how stressful this must have been for you, not being in the proper authority to do most of it, and I'd like to take the opportunity to inform you that you're relieved from the remainder of the case."

I blinked.  "Isn't there anything else I can do?  Anything I can do to help?  At all?"  Like hell I was giving up this soon.

"Yes, miss, you can.  You can stay the hell out of our way."

I must not have heard that last part right, because I shook my head and blinked several times.   "Pardon, sheriff, what did you just say to me?"

"I told you to keep your nose out of this from now on.  What part of that didn't you understand?  Formaldehyde get to your brain or something?"

Some sheriff!  I was getting really pissed.  Everyone knew better than to talk to me like that.  My vision began to get an edge of red.  Damn bastard.  "Excuse me, but I've done more than anyone on this case!  I'm not a cop, but I'm damned sure not gonna just sit around and dissect my corpses without getting a line about what's happening!  If that's what you think, you're wrong, dude!"

Now it was his turn to get mad.  He started cursing me to high heaven and low hell before Dr. Lecter burst in.  Perfect timing, bud.

"What the hell is going on?" he half-shouted.  "Kira, what happened?"

"Ask him," I growled.  "Someone's mother forgot to teach him some manners and humility when addressing a lady."

The sheriff opened his mouth to say something and I held up a hand.  "Just shut up.  I'm outta here.  You can take care of this, Dr. Lecter."  I swept through the door and down the hall, and somehow found myself at the front of the building.

"Kira!"  I turned around and saw Dr. Lecter running to catch up with me.  I let him.  "Kira!  What happened?"

"What do you think?  I was royally insulted and I didn't take it!  God, who voted for that IDIOT anyway?  Good Lord, I've done more than anyone on this and now I'm just being blown off!  Is that fair?!  God, I hope not."  I started backing out into the parking lot, still talking.  "I've given my warning and I've contributed all I'm going to.  Your fate is now your own.  I don't give a shit anymore, so for all I care you all can just _drop dead!_"

It's funny who says things and the way they turn out, because at that moment, I remember seeing the blur of something big coming up really fast.  It hit me and I blacked out.

Famous last words, eh?

I hoped not.

~~~

Reviews=More Chapters!  Which I bet you all want, eh?


	11. Chapter Eleven: Possible Harbinger of Do...

A/N: Holy cow!  I've busted the 50-review mark!  Well, my ego has just gone up several notches.  Seriously, folks, I never even imagined AR could go this far.  I owe you folks everything thus far, and if it were possible, I'd throw a big party.  But since that's not the case, then you'll just have to be content with this overwhelming praise in return for all your support.

Sorry for my temporary absence- I was called to go on an unexpected trip to Florida that could not be avoided.  Hey, I got to go parasailing, so it wasn't a total waste of time.  Plus, I got to "bond" with my family.  In the words of Bill Engvall: "There's a difference between being bonded with and being stuck with."  Oh well.  'Twas fun.

Question and Answer time!  Yay!

Ophiel: Maybe…maybe not.  I could very well kill off Kira and continue from Elwood or Rook's POV.  But we like Kira, ne?  I won't kill her off…yet.  Muahahaha.  
  
Kylemacuk1234:  *laughs* Good suggestion.  You know, I just might.

Slim Dim:  Hon, play the game.  You shall get no direct answers from me.  *grin*

Disclaimer for a slight scene stealing from Evangelion.  Name what episode I used the scene from and you get a cookie.

That done, let's get right to the goods, shall we?  Warning: Some major spoilers for SH2…hope you don't mind.  Sorry for the shakiness of this chapter…I'm getting a whole shebang full of ideas for the remainder of the story, so filler chapters are getting hard to write.  I promise the next chapter will be better!  Honest!  ^_^;;;

Cheers,  
~Rumer  ("In 1903 the Wright Brothers invented the airplane, because in 1902 they drove across country with their families.")

Autopsy Report: Chapter 11

I hate being unconscious.  It's not fun at all.  All time passes, and no time passes.  You're just suspended in an endless now.  You just close your eyes- blink even- and time has flown to several hours after the blink.  If that made any sense, I must have been more screwed-up than even I thought possible.  And that was saying something.

I tried to focus my mind on what had happened.  Usually when you try to focus on anything in a dream, you wake up.  There's a difference between sleep and unconsciousness.  When you sleep, there's always the option to wake up at any time.  Unconsciousness is a middle ground between death and sleep.  There are less boundaries, and you can focus.  In this case, I focused on how in the hell I got to be unconscious in the first place.  Oh yeah, something big hit me.  Car, truck, backhoe, hell, it could have been an elephant for all I knew.  I decided to rule that out.  Elephants just weren't common in Brahms.  The closest zoo was in Harborville, and that was a whopping three hours away.  No, I didn't get out much.  I decided that a truck hit me and left it at that.  It was easier than trying to figure out how an elephant made the three-hour trip just to squash me.  I guess some animals as well as people had way too much time on their hands.  Paws.  Hooves.  Whatever.

Just when I was lapsing back into the unmarked flow of time, I started to get flickers of something.  Almost like a sped-up videotape, but not quite.  Just flashes, flickers.  A blond man surrounded by fog.  He was shooting something big with a small handgun.  A flash of a black-haired, intense-looking woman.  A flash of an obese, dirty-looking man.  A little blonde girl.  Two women, superimposed.  They looked almost the same, but not quite.  One had blonde hair with red highlights, one had light brown.  The facial features were the same, as well as build.  I felt a scream.  I didn't hear it, but I heard the vibration your bones get when someone screams really loud.  A male scream after the female.  The blond man and the brunette woman in a room, the brunette lying in a bed.  She looked sickly and weak.  The blond took a pillow and made to smother her.  Panicked, I tried to tell him to stop.  The image froze, then changed.  A large person spattered with blood, dragging a gigantic knife.  It wore some sort of helmet…I tried to focus, but nothing happened.  The scene changed.  The black-haired girl climbing a staircase filled with flame.  The obese man putting a gun to his head, then putting it down.

_"Fat…skinny…ugly…pretty…it doesn't matter once you're dead!  And a corpse can't laugh."_

"NO!"

My eyes snapped open.  I caught a glimpse of pristine whiteness before I was overwhelmed by dizziness and lay back down.  Taking several deep breaths, I stared at the ceiling, trying to calm the nausea.  Slowly, the queasiness dimmed and vanished, and I tried to make sense of where I was.  The room was all blurry, most likely because my contacts had been removed.  Swell.  I really didn't want to know how they did that.  It made me uncomfortable just thinking about it, so I sat up slowly.  Maybe a bit of height would help my vision some.  Leaning against the headboard (or whatever one would call a series of bars that served as a headboard), I squinted and tried to focus.  The room came into clearer focus, and I could tell that this was the typical make of a long-term hospital room.

Long-term?

I shook my head and continued to study the area.  The window was letting in a dim glare of light.  It was either early morning or twilight, I wasn't sure.  Whatever the case, the little light let in reflected off something on the opposite side of the room.  Gingerly, I swung my feet over the side of the bed and onto the floor.  The tile felt cold, icy even.  I suppressed a shiver, stood up, and went to see what it was.  Before I had gone two steps, a sharp jolt of pain in my lower arm made me wince.  An IV needle was stuck in my arm.  I hated IV's.  Gritting my teeth, I pulled it out and let the sliver of metal fall.  A tiny drop of blood formed where it had punctured my skin, and I gently wiped it away on the hem of my blasted hospital gown.  Yes, they apparently managed to get me into another glorified shower curtain.  Bully for them.  I turned and walked towards the source of the reflection.  The light had been reflecting off a pair of glasses.  How considerate.  I picked them up and immediately noted several cracks and chips in the lenses, as well as a severe twisting of the wires.  No matter, at least I would be able to see.  I put on the glasses and blinked.  It was like seeing through a prism, only not as colorful.  I blinked several more times and I could semi-see.  Yay.  Oh well, it was better than the alternative: wandering around an unfamiliar place with God knows who or what about.

Now that I could see, I noticed some flowers and cards near the bed.  For the second time in the month, people had enough decency to get me flowers.  No matter how many people I pissed off, they always came around to give me their floral concerns.  How sweet.  Or not.  They were all wilted and dry, as though someone just forgot to care for the lilies.  To me, that was sacrilege.  the cards had collected a fine layer of dust.  A very fine layer; I'd have to ask the cleaning staff about that later.

Dust.  Wilted flowers.  Huh.  I scratched my head.  I thought I'd been really hurt.  The last thing I'd remembered was feeling horrible pain in my bowels, legs, and ribs.  I rubbed all the previous pain centers nervously.  No pain came.  Any bandages I might have had were gone.  I felt no wound, nothing.  Just several slight mounds of what I supposed was scar tissue.

Oh my.

I made a mental note to kill the person who turned off my alarm clock.

Despite the butterflies and snakes fluttering around my stomach, I had the gall to realize that I had to go to the bathroom, and there was no bathroom in the tomb they dared to call my room.  So I made my way down the hall, walking normally if not a bit lopsided.  I happened to glance into the different hospital rooms as I passed them, and in one I glimpsed a calendar.  I read the month.

My jaw dropped.

According to the calendar, it was November.  The last I'd heard, it was June.  I backed out of the room, almost tripping over my own feet, and raced down the hall.  Somehow I found the bathroom, though I don't really remember doing it.  I sped to the toilet and emptied my stomach as well as my bowels, wondering what in the hell was going on.  I sat and buried my face in my hands.  There was no way it could be November.  That would mean that five months had passed.  And that was downright bullshit.  I slowly got to my feet and went to the sink. I sighed, letting the cold water run over my bony fingers.  Wait.  Bony fingers?  I took my hands from the flow and examined them.  They looked longer and definitely thinner.  I thought that was odd until I looked at myself in the mirror.  My hair was shorter, in a more male-looking style, and my face was thinner.  My cheekbones stood out a lot more than they used to, and my eyes had somehow curved up a little.  I looked at my body.  Yup, that was thinner too.  Funny thing was, I was thinking of losing some weight before.  I laughed to myself before turning off the faucet, drying my hands, and leaving the tiny bathroom.  I turned to go back to my room before realizing that I didn't know where my room was.  Silly me.  So I headed to what I thought was the main hall.  That should lead me to someone who knew what the hell was going on.

I must have passed a dozen dark rooms before finding one with the light on.  I looked at the etching on the door- Director's Office.  I knocked twice and went in.  Dr. Jaina Proudmoore was hunched over a laptop, fingers tapping away on its small keyboard.  I cleared my throat.  She looked up, and I saw the color drain from her already pale face.  Heh, I still had that effect on people.

"Dr…Dr. Devereaux…" she stammered, "what are you doing up?"

I shrugged.  "I woke up and wanted to find someone who could tell me why I had been asleep for FIVE MONTHS."  I emphasized 'five months' strongly.  I let my hands curl into fists.  Dr. Proudmoore was clearly astonished.  "What's wrong, Jaina?  You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I…I think I have…" She reached for the phone.  Dialing a few numbers, she spoke very quietly and very rapidly, like most doctors did when they had a crucial update they didn't want to tell the patient.  Nope, Dr. Proudmoore hadn't changed one bit.  Before I could expand on my questions, I suddenly became very lightheaded, and fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes.  I was unconscious before I hit the floor.  Graceful little minx, aren't I?

***

I came to presumably in the morning.  Early morning, because the light was a bit brighter than the last time I'd been up.  The room was the same, except for a very grave looking Elwood Lecter staring me in the face.  Talk about a wake-up call.

"You're awake."  He didn't sound too happy about it.

I groaned.  "It's you."  I tried to sound just as enthusiastic as he.

Elwood sighed.  "Shit, Kira, do you know how much you've scared us?"

"I wouldn't, Elwood.  I haven't been around for a while."

Elwood took a deep breath.  Whatever he was about to say wasn't gonna be too good, I could tell.  "Kira, you've been in a coma for five months.  The diagnosis from Dr. Proudmoore was that you'd never come out of it.  Jesus, you were hit by an ambulance!  Those aren't exactly the smallest vehicles to come by!"

I blinked for a moment and began to laugh.  I appreciated the irony.  Heh, leave it to me to get hit by an ambulance.  At least it wasn't an elephant.

"It's not funny.  And it's your own damn fault, too.  Backing out into traffic like that!  You're the dumbest badass I've ever come across, you know that?"

"All too well," I replied slowly.  "So I was hit by an ambulance.  What then?"

"You went to the hospital.  Shattered sternum, the whole left side of your chest was crushed, your left femur was shattered, as was your right knee, and your left arm seemed beyond repair.  You should have died on the spot."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

"I didn't say that.  And anyway, it's a miracle you've healed.  An absolute miracle."

"Well, that's me all over, isn't it?  Well, besides my miraculous recovery, what else has gone on in the land of the living?"

"For starters, Sheriff Drake has been relieved of his command."

"Thank God."

"Second, Dr. Ling from Alchemilla Hospital committed suicide not long after your accident."

That made me cough.  Secretary woman, dead?  The idea seemed too weird to grasp.

""Third, little Rook has been brought on full time.  He's all yours when you get started again."

I blinked.  "When I get started again?  Elwood, don't I need some recovery time or physical therapy or something?"

"That's what you've been doing for the past five months.  You don't need physical therapy.  Another miracle."  He stood to go.  "Your clothes are on the counter, as are a new set of contacts and a watch.  Your old one was shattered.  I'll expect you back to work in a week."

I sat up and buried my face in my hands.  "Okay, okay.  You got it."  I heaved a sigh.

Elwood looked at me for a moment, and a tinge of red appeared in his cheeks.  Elwood, blushing?  Naw.

"Don't show up looking like that, Dr. Devereaux."  He turned on his heel and left.

I blinked.  What did he mean by that?  I looked perfectly fine, thank you very much.  Suddenly I felt a slight draft.  I looked down out of curiosity and immediately figured out why Elwood had been blushing.

This renewed the reason why I hated hospital gowns.  Apparently when I sat up, the front became undone, or already was undone (hospital perverts!), and when the sheet fell away, Elwood had the reason to blush.  Needless to say, I would have become eligible for arrest under indecent exposure.  My cheeks burned.  Good LORD!  Had I been reduced to THIS after five months?!

"I'LL KILL YOU, ELWOOD!  ARGH!"  I screamed in fury.

I suppose that wasn't a good thing to do, because that scream drew the attention of several hospital attendants.  I had to threaten their lives about a thousand times with a scalpel before I could get them to leave.  Where the hell was my Ruger when I needed it?

***

A week later, I was back on my merry way through life.  Whoopee.  Out of one hospital and into another.  What a life I lead.  But I wasn't complaining; now I was staff.  Then I was client.  There IS a difference.  Rook was certainly glad to see me back.  The first thing I did was congratulate him on his graduation and his decision to come over full time.  The second thing I did was tell him that he was now on my staff- permanently.  The look on his face was absolutely priceless.

I was filing the last of my missed paperwork when a knock sounded on my office door.  Ah, visitors.  Always welcome.

"Enter."

Dr. Lecter stood on the threshold.  "Dr. Devereaux, do you remember my telling you that Alchemilla hospital was in need of a director?"

I nodded.  "I do indeed.  What about it?  If you ask me to do it, I'll have two words for you, and they'll rhyme and with 'duck scoff'."

Dr. Lecter laughed.  "Not in the least.  I wanted you to meet the new director."  He motioned to a woman standing slightly behind him.  She stepped forward, smiled and extended her hand in greeting.  I took it.

"I'm Dr. Mary Sunderland," she said in a cheerful voice.  "Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise," I stammered.  Usually I wasn't that edgy or paranoid when I meet new people, but I had exceptions.  Like now.

Dr. Mary Sunderland was the brown-haired superimposed woman from my dream.

Two accurate dreams thus far.  Luck?  No.  Fate?  Hell no.  

Harbinger of doom?

Maybe.

~~~

Reviews=More chapters!  Now we're getting into SH2…we're halfway there!  Keep it going, guys!


	12. Chapter Twelve: Another Rude Awakening

A/N: HALLELUJAH!!!  WRITER'S BLOCK BROKEN!!!  ^__^  *does a bit of a dance*  Yayisms!  I am back in action, baby!!!

Q&A time!  Yippee!

American Fetus: Good observation.  However, Kira doesn't say she's eaten them in the space of time when she was a vegetarian.  I suppose that doesn't cover the turkey and cheese Subway, but hey.  I guess Kira is a vegetarian when she wants to be.  With her job, can you really blame her?  ^_^;

Kylemacuk1234: Mine!  *snatches copyright*  Well…not yet.  And it's a fanfiction…so it wouldn't count.  Phooey.

MoriMori_EYE:  KAWORU!!!  *GLOMP*  Hee hee.  Yes yes, I love Kaworu.  I may have used his name, but he does not appear anywhere in this story.  *cries*  Oh well.  I'll track down his voice actor yet.  ^__^  *swoon*  Remember, name the episode the last reference came from and you get a cookie…

Jun:  Sore wa…Himitsu desu!  ^_~v

Short chapter, I know, but be thankful!  Now I'm back on track, so more chappies will be out sooner.  Worse comes to worse, IM me and smack me.  That'll work, I bet.  ^_^;;;  Anyway, thanks to all who've reviewed so far!  May nougat be showered on your firstborn!  *blink*…where did _that_ come from?!

Oh yes…for future reference, I am a girl.  ^_~

Cheers,  
~Rumer ("It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt.  Then it's hilarious.")

Autopsy Report: Chapter 12

My watch beeped.  It was approximately 11:45 PM, and I was still hard at work.  Well, not at the office.  I was at home.  For once.  Since the meeting with Dr. Sunderland several hours ago, I couldn't concentrate.  I spent the entire day moping around the office, downing can after can of Coke from the vending machine, and trying to piece together just why my life was getting so damned complicated.  I never figured out the answer to that question aside from the obvious, so when it was time to leave, I had quite a bit on my mind.  As soon as I got to the apartment, I performed the mandatory 'search and destroy' routine and settled myself at my computer, a 2002 Dell Dimension 4500S.  Yeah, it did cost a pretty penny.  But it was worth every cent.  I couldn't do anything with my old 1997 Mac.  The thing was slow as molasses, and half as smart.  I figured if I were to replace it, I'd make it a good one.  So I did.  Right now I was using it to find out who the hell Dr. Mary Sunderland was.

Well, I knew who she was, that was obvious.  But aside from the name, I knew next to nothing.  So I called up my hacking skills from the days of yore and got to work delving into the internet, getting into the files of most Ivy League schools and looking for Mary's name.  I looked in Yale, Harvard, Birmingham, Vanderbilt, and all the most prestigious medical institutions there were.  I even looked in Oxford, and I still found nothing.  Okay, either Mary Sunderland was a pseudonym, or she just took classes from the neighborhood Mayo Clinic.  Getting a bit irritated, I found my way into an extremely well used identification program.  Well…not quite an ID program.  More like a spy network.  On many websites with over 50,000 hits per day, some people pay the website manager to put spies in the software.  When you visit the page, the spy program is automatically imprinted onto your hard drive, where they monitor your moves on and off the net.  Sadly, you can't get rid of them without specific software.  And the software is expensive.  Most people value their privacy, but then again, most people don't know about the spies.  I thought that even John Doe must have picked up a few spies on _his _com, so I checked around the spy list.  Sure enough, the name Sunderland was on the spy list.  Hot dog.  I double-clicked the link.

_Beep._

A little box had come up on the screen.  "Access denied: Password insufficient".  Password?  There was no place for a password.  I tried it again.  The box came up a second time.  Okay, to hell with conventional methods.  I started giving ALT commands.  Hey, if it got me where I needed to go, I didn't care for any lawsuits daring to come my way.  When I finished the ALT commands, I clicked the link again.

The computer beeped, and went black.  I cursed aloud.  If it crashed my system, I was going to be very angry.  My computer was my baby, and I would kill any who would do anything to it.  Wait, a C: prompt was flashing on the screen.

_Hello, Kira._

White lettering had appeared on my screen in a very Matrix-esque manner.  My jaw dropped.

_Are you there?_

I forced my heart back into my chest and typed shakily.

"Who is this?"

_You know me.  _

I thought.  And thought.  And thought some more.  Nope, I didn't really know anyone else who could hack into a system as well as I could.  I've hacked into the Pentagon before, although not of my free will, so skills like mine were few and far between.  So I just took a wild shot in the dark.

"Harry?"

_Guess again._

"Mary?"

A few moments of silence before the answer.

_No._

"Well, I don't know.  Whoever you are, tell me what you want, and leave me the hell alone."

_Not very polite, are you?  No.  I won't tell you who I am, but I will tell you what I want._

"Tell me."

_I want you to go outside and look around.  Come back and tell me what you saw._

I shook my head in disbelief.  How stupid did this guy think I was?

***

Apparently very stupid, because I got up and made my way to the front door.  I locked the door behind me, walked down the corridor and down to the lobby, cursing my naiveté.  When I stepped out of the building and saw my breath, I remembered that it was now November.  Cursing to myself, I doubled back, grabbed my deep-freeze-sub-zero-ice-age trench coat parka which I'd bought in Germany.  They have some of the coldest winters around, and for that matter, so did Brahms.  There was never any snow, but it got so cold that your breath would freeze and fall to the earth in tiny icicles.  I slipped the hood over my head and locked the door again, and proceeded to go downstairs to the parking lot.  As I crossed the decorative "garden" that acted as a median for the lot and the building, I heard a sound.  I looked around cautiously, seeing if I could pinpoint what it was.  A snuffling sound, almost like a large animal.  I paused for a moment, heard nothing, shrugged, and continued to walk.  My mind was still in dreamland.  I started to whistle "Ode to Joy", but immediately stopped when I heard the snuffle again.  I looked around again, this time more carefully.  There was nothing but a small alcove where the dumpster was.  Sure, of course that's where it would be.  If I were a monster, I would hide in a garbage bin.  I snickered to myself and walked over to the dumpster.  I stopped in my tracks when I saw what was there.

A large dog, maybe a greyhound of sorts, was rooting through some spilled garbage.  Hell, large couldn't describe it.  Its back was as high as my waist.  It looked like a small pony.  It snuffled around, and turned its head.  It caught sight of me.

Shit.

The dog started to turn.  Nope, the size of it wasn't a trick of the shadows.  It really was a monster of a dog.  Quite literally.  Its fur was slick and molded to its body, and a lot of bones showed through the delicate skin.  Hell, I wasn't even sure it had skin.  It was mangy, flea-bitten, and overall disgusting.  I thought I saw the eyes glint red, but I shrugged it off.  Red eyes?  Pshaw.  Not even Cujo had red eyes.  So, being the sensible young me I am, I started to back away.  The dog did nothing but watch me, staring after me even when I reached the building.  I slipped inside and raced back to my apartment.  When I got there, I ran to my window and looked out.  The window was catty-corner from the alcove with the dumpster, I'd complained about the view before.  But now I was astonished.  The dog was nowhere to be seen.  I let out a shuddering sigh and returned to my computer.  The text was still there, and when I sat back down, another message flashed on the screen.

_Did you see it?_

"The dog?"

_Yes._

"I did.  What about it?  It was a mangy mutt."

_You're starting to see them too.  In time, you'll be just…like…me.  Keep it up, flatfoot._

The screen flashed blue, then the computer shut down.  I tried to turn it back on, but to no avail.  The thing was as disobedient as an ass.  The donkey, not the person.  Although the similarities are unquestionable.  In any case, I wasn't getting any more work done tonight.  I let loose a defeated sigh, trudged to the living room, and flopped down on my couch.  I fell asleep right there and snoozed like a little baby.  Pretty pathetic for the heap-big forensic pathologist, right?  Or should I say 'flatfoot'?  Naw.  It's expected of the rookies.  Whoever pulled the little Matrix prank was gonna pay, big time.  And to do that I needed all the rest I could get.  Considering I'd spent almost half a year sleeping, who knew I'd need it in the next, oh, millennium?  Someone did.  And it haunted me.  I dreamed of faceless specters and ruby-eyed dogs.  I'd gotten used to dreamless sleep and missed it horribly.  Even I could use a tone-down of trauma.  Lord knows I've had enough.  But we weren't dealing with the Lord now…we were dealing with something else altogether, and that something else wouldn't give a damn about my dreams.  Quite literally.  Or maybe…he just might.

***

I woke up the next morning to my cellphone ringing.  Heh, my scary little cell now doubled as an alarm clock.  I opened my eyes and quickly closed them, cursing to myself.  I'd forgotten to take out my contacts, and now my eyes were dry as hell.  No matter.  At least my ears were okay.  I stumbled across my living room to the kitchen, where I found the phone and picked up on the last ring.

"It is I.  What the hell do you want?"

"Dr. Devereaux?"  It was Dr. Proudmoore.  Oops.  Quickly I changed my tone.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Proudmoore…you woke me up and I didn't get to bed until late last night.  What's up?"

"Forget it.  Listen, get dressed and come down to the clinic.  We got another body in last night.  From Silent Hill.  Since you did all the autopsies thus far and have pinpointed everything about them, we wanted you to continue your work."  Lucky, lucky me.

"Yes ma'am…I'll be there in about an hour."

"Half an hour.  We really need you.  I'll see you here."  She hung up.  Nice.  I blew a raspberry and hung up.  Letting loose a groan, I forced my eyes open and began to search for my rewetting drops.  If I was supposed to do another autopsy, I'd at least like to see what I was doing.  After all, I didn't want to spend any more time in the hospital.  I'd pretty much spent all my vacation days at that haven for healing, and I did want to get some time to go to Bermuda in a few years.  YEARS.  I'd have to work my ass off to make it in that little time.  And now was the best time to start.

I found my rewetting drops and struggled into some clean clothes.  Best to not keep the client waiting.

~~~

Reviews=More chapters!  Which I will put out at a faster rate, I PROMISE!!!  ^_^;;;


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Eddie

A/N: La la la…life is good, getting better.

You will be happy to hear that I passed my karate belt test, and I am now a step higher on the arse-kicking scale.  I am now an honorary Orange belt.  *waits for applause, but crickets chirp instead*  Hey, at least I'm TAKING martial arts!  Do you think writing is the only thing I've been struggling with?  Hmm?

Anyway, I'm also attempting to learn Ancient Egyptian.  Worry not, this shall not interfere with my free time…much.  *evil grin*

Q&A time!  Yee!

Hester: *evil Mazoku-y grin* I'll never tell…It would serve you right if that were the case.

…Huh.  No more questions to answer.  That's a shocker.  Oh well, let's get down to business, shall we?  Ooh…13.  Lucky number, eh?

Cheers,  
~Rumer ("Ahh, grasshopper…only when you are able to pluck a fly from the air with chopsticks will you be able to leave the temple…")

Autopsy Report: Chapter Thirteen

I strode down the halls of the clinic wearing black jeans, a burgundy tank top, and army issue jungle boots, shined to a mirror likeness.  Yes, yes, people stared at me. After all, this wasn't a casual establishment.  There WAS a dress code.  My attitude: Fsck off.  The staring people weren't on their way to meet a corpse, so they wouldn't know.  Most people don't, but hey.  Those people are lucky, but unlucky.  They're lucky in that they get to stay out of it and leave hopefully normal lives.  They're unlucky in that my job was damn cool!  …'was' being the operative word there.  I really enjoyed my job before all this…stuff started happening.  Maybe I'm morbid.  Maybe not.  That didn't matter.  What mattered was the here and now, and I wasn't happy about it.

I passed several offices before winding up at Dr. Proudmoore's office.  Why they put the director's office in the smack middle of the place, I'll never know.  Maybe for privacy reasons.  Maybe for the confusion factor on first-time clients.  Yes, the confusion factor.  We hospital folk are such devious people.  We get off on almost any stunt.  Well, a lot of the things going on in hospitals are pretty depressing.  People are hurting, dying, or dead, so you have to have a sense of humor.  It may not be appropriate, but you have to know when and where to use it.  Getting sued for an inappropriate comment is a perfect example.  Yes, that has been done before.  No, we didn't win.  So now the rule of thumb is either say something appropriate or shut up.  Most people shut up.  Ah, so that's why all the staff is so quiet all the time!  My my, I'm giving out ALL the secrets of the trade, now aren't I?

I knocked twice on the door and went in.  Dr. Lecter was sitting behind the desk, reading a paper.

"Yo, Elwood," I began, "Where's Dr. Proudmoore?"

Elwood looked up and did a double take.  A smile curled on his lips.  "You know we have a dress-code here, don't you, Kira?"

I raised an eyebrow.  "Don't start with me, Lecter.  Answer the question.  Where's Dr. Proudmoore?"

"She was called out on business.  She should be back in a few hours."  Elwood stood up and handed the paper he was reading to me.  "Your work for today's stats."  I took the paper and began to read.

"Edward Dumbrowski…Age:31…Weight: Good God!  312 lbs?!  This guy wasn't exactly underfed, was he?"  I looked up at Elwood.  He had a somewhat angry look on his face.  Oh, I'd forgotten.  He didn't like anyone saying anything remotely offensive about overweight people.  I said a quick apology and continued reading.  "Height: 6'0''…Huh.  Found in Silent Hill…as usual.  Cause of death: Two rifle shot wounds to the- Wait a minute!  He's already been done!  Why are you pawning him off on me if he's already had his examination?" I extended the paper back towards Elwood, who shook his head.

"He's already had the autopsy because we weren't sure if you were still up to snuff.  You _were_ out of it for a while, and we didn't want to take any chances.  But," he said, holding up a finger, "we still want you to take a look.  Poke around a bit.  See if you find anything the coroner didn't.  You're the most observant person I've ever met, so you probably will.  I'd bet money on that."  

I shot Elwood a look that clearly said "yeah right", but I raised the paper back up to reading level and continued to scan Eddie's stats.

"Cause of death: 2 rifle wounds to the upper torso.  Evidence of frostbite."  My eyes flicked from the paper to Elwood.  "Where was he found?"

"Actually, he was found in a meat locker.  Took people a helluva lot of time to find him.  The owners of the restaurant that found him thought he was a piece of meat.  Stupid people, huh?"  Elwood shook his head.  "Well, in any case, the toxicologists have already taken their blood and other body fluid samples, so we should have a good idea if this guy was on anything at time of death.  It'll probably be done in a little bit, so I'll have the report sent directly to you."

I nodded and gestured to the door with an open hand.  "Shall we?  I assume you're coming with me, since I'll probably need a bit of help."

Elwood shook his head.  "Nope.  Not this time.  You get a different supervisor."

I cocked my head to the side.  "Okay, who?"

"Look behind you."

I turned around and froze.  Dr. Mary Sunderland was standing in the doorway, grinning.  I gulped and forced my brain to disregard the 'fight or flight' response and donned a grin of my own.  Except mine looked rather forced.  Gee, I wonder why.

"Dr. Sunderland," I said cheerily, "what a surprise.  I thought you were going back to Silent Hill.  You do have a hospital to run, don't you?"

Mary shook her head.  "That's true.  But Laura wanted to stay for another day before going back.  I couldn't refuse her!"

"Laura?"

As if on cue, a little blonde girl peeked out from behind Mary, a judgmental and curious look on her cherubic face.  Her blonde hair was tied back into a ponytail, and she wore a plaid jumper with Mary Janes and knee-high stockings.  How cute.  I forced myself to not recoil and bent down a smidge.  I ignored a tinge of déjà vu and smiled at the little girl.

"Hi, Laura!  My name's Kira.  How old are you?"

Laura ducked back behind Mary.  I straightened up.

Mary smiled at me.  "She's just a bit shy.  She just turned nine last week."  She turned around to face the hall.  "Laura, you wait in here with Dr. Lecter.  He said he'll play with you while I finish up my work."

I raised an eyebrow.  Dr Lecter OFFERED to play with a child?  Hell had finally frozen over.  Or was beginning to, anyway.  It was quite cold in the room.

Laura re-entered the room and immediately plopped into the cushy visitor's chair across from Elwood.  He immediately launched into the customary speech you go into when dealing with a child, and Laura's mind seemed to be elsewhere.  I felt a hand on my shoulder.  It was Mary.

"I promised Laura I'd make this quick.  You just need to look over the body, right?  It shouldn't take too long."

I nodded.  "Let's go."  I left the room and walked down to the morgue, Mary tailing me the whole way.

***

I looked over Eddie's dead body with disgust.  The report hadn't lied.  Two fist-sized holes decorated Eddie's obese figure, one over his heart, the other through his left lung.  Instant death, most likely.  Frostbite was evident, especially around the wounds' edges and phalanges.  A few fingers and toes looked about ready to fall off.  Several already had and were floating in formaldehyde filled jars on a tray.  A bit morbid, but eh, what are you gonna do.  I poked around the wounds for a few minutes and found nothing.  Still, despite the obvious futility of what I was doing, I did what I was told.  I couldn't very well let Elwood down, now could I?

Mary loomed over me the whole time.  I took to wondering if she had been a vulture in another life.  Oh well, maybe I could get her to answer a few of my questions.

"So, Mary, are you married?"

There was a long pause before the answer.

"I was, but my husband disappeared a while ago.  He was declared dead.  So, to answer your question, no."

"Oh…I'm sorry…"

A moment of silence for the crazy woman's dead husband.  Wherever he was, he was in a better place.  Hopefully.

"So all you have is your daughter…it must be tough."

"Oh, she's not _my_ daughter…"

I looked up and stared into Mary's eyes.  "Not your daughter?"

Mary broke eye contact and looked to the side.  "Adopted daughter.  I adopted her about a year ago, a little while after James disappeared."

I nodded.  "I bounced around the foster world myself for a while…I know what it's like to be finally adopted."  Good thing I didn't say what I was thinking.  Why?  I was thinking, 'That's why you buy a pet, not a person, you sick woman!', so you can see why I said something else.

"Yeah, she was really happy.  I met her in the hospital…I was having some surgery for an illness…and she was my little friend, if you will.  I found out she was an orphan, so I adopted her.  She was so glad…for a while there, I thought it wasn't going to happen.  I wasn't doing too well."

I nodded and murmured a sympathetic 'Mmm'.  Then I returned my gaze to Eddie.  He probably didn't have any sob stories to tell.  Well, dead men didn't tell tales, now did they?  I sighed.  There was nothing that just jumped out at me on Eddie.  It looked like Elwood would lose his bet.  I noticed a patch of cloth that was discolored, like it was vomited on.  Shaking my head, I clipped a bit of it off and put it in a plastic baggie.  I'd give it to Rook to analyze later.  I straightened up and put my probe and forceps on the surgical tray.

Mary looked quizzical.  "Nothing?"

I shook my head.  "Aside from this piece of nasty looking cloth, nothing new.  It just looks like a regular homicide case to me."  I draped the previously used white sheet over Eddie's figure and sighed.  I pulled off my gloves, mask and lab coat and dumped them in the appropriate places.  Mary did the same.  I was in the middle of washing up when I heard a knock on the door.  Drying my hands, I walked to the door and opened it.  Hey, my favorite intern.

Rook had gotten older.  His hair had gotten a bit darker, and his features had thinned out a bit.  He looked a bit like Seth Green, but of course I wasn't about to tell him that.  He didn't need any fangirls messing up his schedule.  But who's to say they weren't already?  He did look a bit brow-beaten.

"Dr. Devereaux!  I have the results from the blood sample…Dr. Lecter told me to give them to you first."  He had a bit deeper voice as well.  My my, our little Rookie was getting to be a _man_.  How cute.

I nodded, took the manila folder, and handed Rook the plastic bag with the cloth in it.  "Good, Rook.  Thank you.  Here's another piece for analysis; I want the results as soon as you have them."

Rook nodded.  "Can do."  He headed for the door.

"Tell your girlfriend hi for me," I added as Rook began to close the door.

Rook looked over his shoulder to gaze at me.  "We broke up…two months ago, Dr. Devereaux."

I blinked.  "Oh…I'm sorry.  I didn't realize.  I'm really sorry, Rook."

He nodded.  "It's okay.  Good day, ma'am."  He closed the door behind him.

I shook my head sadly.  I'd really gotten out of the loop these past few months.  I was about to throw an all-out pity party when the loudspeaker blared from the ceiling.

"Dr. Kira Devereaux, please report to Dr. Proudmoore's office.  Dr. Devereaux, report to Dr. Proudmoore's office.  Hurry."

I exchanged quizzical looks with Mary before going to the door.  I doubled my pace to get to the office, passing Rook on the way.  I hardly noticed.  I got to the office, knocked twice, and went in.

Dr. Lecter was talking quickly on the phone.  He saw me enter and motioned for me to sit in the chair.  Laura was on the floor reading a book.  Smart kid.  Very smart, considering she was reading Modern Psychology.

"Yes, she's here…Here she is."  Elwood held the out the phone to me.  He looked drastically pale.  I was starting to get nervous.  Hand shaking slightly, I lifted the receiver to my ear.

"This is Dr. Kira Devereaux, may I help you?"

"Dr. Devereaux, do you live at the Colonial Grand Apartment Complex?"

"That's right."

"Dr. Devereaux, this is the Brahms Fire Department, Fire Chief Brody speaking.  Your apartment complex has burned to the ground."

~~~

Reviews=More chapters!  Things are really starting to heat up, eh?  Ooh…bad pun…_bad pun_…


	14. Chapter Fourteen: Implications and A Hot...

A/N: Good Lord, I'm getting back to my old self…I never thought that to be possible.  *joyful laugh*

In any case…

Gomen for the long wait.  It's been horribly rude of me not to update…I really have no excuse.  I've been really lazy for the past few weeks, and it's been rubbing off on my work, art, and writing.

So, after being given an extremely harsh reprimand, I've decided to shape up and continue.  Considering I'm planning to have maybe two more chapters after this, I'd best hop to it and make it count.  And with a sequel on the way (possibly), I don't want this to carry over into that time.  That would be really pathetic, ne?

And so, without further ado, I give you chapter 14.  Enjoy.  Mucho comic relief, and implied fluff.  Heeh.

Pax!  
~Rumer ("Dies irae, dies illa…Solvet saeclum in favilla…")

Autopsy Report: Chapter Fourteen

I walked through the ashes of what once was my apartment building and shook my head in shock.  A few pieces of wood and sheet rock burned silently nearby, illuminating the night-consumed land.  I hadn't been allowed to get near the debris until most of the flames were gone and most of the victims removed.  Yes, there were victims.  And before, I'd thought the only time you'd die in an apartment was if one of its walls fell on you.  Shows how right I can be at times.

I stumbled over a pile of ash and involuntarily sneezed.  A cloud of black rose from the ground, totally obscuring my vision for a second.  Ugh, soot.  It almost immediately found its way to my eyes and they immediately began to water.  Hmm, what exactly was I DOING wandering around a previous firepit?  Oh yeah, looking for any salvageable remains of my apartment.  Apparently it depended on your definition of "salvageable", especially when you're dealing with an emergency of this sort.  My definition lingered between "pristine" and "lightly scuffed".  I wasn't gonna find anything.  I snickered to myself, fully aware of my impossibly high standards, and continued to scour the ground with my gaze.  I looked back to where I'd tripped, and fanned a bit of soot away from a charred lump.  It looked like a rock.  Scrunching my nose in disgust, I tapped it with the tip of my toe.

It began to bleed.

Suddenly, I found myself on my arse, sneezing and hacking up soot.  I'd jumped backward so quickly, I hadn't had time to catch myself, and wound up on my fourth point of contact.  Now I knew why my parents never named me Grace.  Realizing that running wasn't gonna do me much good, I did the second best thing.  I screamed.  Well, tried to, anyway.  I let out a wheezing, strangled noise that sounded like a cross between a horribly out of tune clarinet with a broken reed and a pelican honk.  Either way, it must have worked how it was supposed to, because several firefighters and a cop started to walk towards me.  Goody, I could communicate in ways other than English.  Well, if you count making several rather odd noises communication.  I didn't give a damn either way.  At least they were coming.  And that was good enough for me.

"What's wrong, Dr. Devereaux?" One firefighter trotted to my side and extended a hand.  I took it, and pointed to the pile of bleeding char.  He glanced down, and apparently he forgot that he was helping me up.  So again I found myself on my rump, and the firefighter started yelling for the others to hurry up.  His voice had turned from cool and confident to having an edge of nervousness.  I scared a firefighter.  Heh, point for me.  I let out a groan and staggered to my feet, seeing as the firefighter had no intention to actually help me up.  Great manners, spanky.  Exactly how many etiquette classes were you thrown out of?  I dusted myself off and backed away, seeing the group of firemen widen around the amazing bleeding piece of meat.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," I said in my most forgiving tone (which had an air of nervousness), "What exactly is that?  Why is it in my- well, what once was my apartment?"

"That's what we're about to find out, Ms. Devereaux," one firefighter said irritably.  Huh.  Funny.  Mucking about in the dirt poking at what might very well be just an overdone filet mignon didn't look like finding ANYTHING out to me.  Oh well, law enforcement officials are strange people.  They'll never pull you over when you're going 90 miles per hour in the city but you can bet there'll be a rogue officer waiting to ticket you when you're going 2 miles over the speed limit on a deserted country road.  I've had my share of official reprimands, so I know what I'm talking about.  Wait, I always know what I'm talking about.  Most of the time.

I stifled an exasperated sigh and began to circle the tribe of would-be investigators.  Yes, tribe.  Well, pack would be more accurate.  Scavenging, sifting through dirt and ash for remains…interesting, really.  Nah.  Snorting in disgust, I kicked at the ground spitefully, feeling much like a two-year old who just lost the spotlight of attention.  Me, act underage?  Surely you jest.  The kick did nothing more than stir up a bunch of soot which immediately found its way into my sinus cavity.  That's what I get, I suppose.  I started to sneeze and hack, and I made a mental note to never have a hissy fit in a pile of ash.  When I got all the black gunk out of my nasal cavity, I looked back at the meat inspectors.  Sure enough, few deviated their attention from the pile of char they were gathered around.  One shot me a glare, clearly telling me to grow up.  Yeah, thanks.  Don't I feel special.  Jerk.  A feeling of self-pity and indignation rose in my throat, and I fought it down.  Count to ten, take deep breaths, you'll suppress the homicidal urge if you try, Kira.  I counted to ten.  I took deep breaths.  I concentrated on telling the nasty little voice in my brain telling me to maim them all to shut the hell up.  It shut up.  Yay, point for me.

I realized I'd been clenching my eyes shut.  Huh.  The heavy thinker, that's me.  I opened them slowly.  Yep, the world was still there, the pack was still on the move, and I found myself standing on something white.  White?  In a pile of ash?  I swept a bit of soot aside with my foot and squinted to make out the markings.

Markings…

Symbols, really.  They stretched in a huge circle around what once was my apartment, encompassing a good 50 foot span.  I could see more traces of white all around the pack.  In fact, they were standing on some center mark…I nonchalantly dragged my foot around, getting weird stares from the random policeman and firefighter.  Yeah yeah yeah, SHUT UP.  Go back to your meat, boys.

A triangle inside the circle of markings was etched in the cement foundation.  Huh.  Why in the hell did anyone take the time to carve shapes in the foundation of a building?  I didn't know.  Probably just some poor sap with way too much time on their hands.  I crouched down and reached out to the carvings, feeling the grooves and tracing their patterns.  As I did, I felt a shiver roll up my arms, power draping over me with each touch.  It raised goosebumps, raised my hair on end.  As I was feeling the carve, I suddenly got a flash of something.  A name.  It looked like it was in some foreign language, but I heard it pronounced in my head…

_Samael…_

I got more images.  A three-winged figure in white, wings disappearing and bat-like ones taking their place…turning from white to black.  Red eyes…Eyes like burning coals.  They seared into me, penetrated my very soul.

_I know you, Kira Devereaux…the time is now…you must know and remember…you are on the Grim Reaper's List.  Make ready…the time is near…_

Sirens sounded in my ears.  Not police sirens, not ambulance sirens…air raid sirens, almost.  They droned on, surrounding me, covering me, drenching me, smothering me…I couldn't see…I couldn't breathe…

"DR. DEVEREAUX!  DR. DEVEREAUX!  ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?"

My eyes snapped open.  I was staring up into the face of a young police officer, who was white as a ghost.  Scared for me?  Naw.  I sat up, and realized that I was drenched with sweat, and my throat felt raw.

"What h-happened?" I asked raspily.  My throat stung with each inflection.  I winced.

"You sort of fell over and started shaking, like you were having a seizure…you started screaming…screaming loud enough to wake the dead…" the police officer said slowly, quaking with fear.  "We didn't know what the hell was wrong…are you all right?"

I struggled to sit up and found the task grueling.  It apparently showed, because the officer stooped down and placed his hands on my shoulders, steadying me.  How gentlemanly.  Chivalry, dead?  Naw.  Never was, just went into hiding.  I coughed once and felt something liquid in my mouth.  I put two fingers to my lips, and they came back red.  Blood?  Aw, hell no.  I struggled to get to my feet, but found the effort to be in vain.  Stupid, stupid girl.  You never try to do for yourself when there's a big strong man to help you, who's both willing and able.  I slipped my arm around the policeman's shoulders.

"Can you help me stand?  I don't think I can by myself."   The great Kira Devereaux, stooping to allow someone to help her?  Mark the day on the calendar.  It won't happen again for a long-o time.  Slowly but surely, I staggered to my feet, relying heavily on my living brace.  Good cop, nice cop.  You get a milkbone later.  I was about to say my thanks to the young officer, but a cry from the pack took both of our attentions.

_"My God on high…It's a **person**…!"_

I don't remember much after that, because I passed out.  Nice going.  Just goes to show why my parents never named me Grace.

***

I woke up staring at an unfamiliar ceiling.  It was Titan-Buff…not my Zinc White.  It was textured too, with those annoying little puff balls that fall into your hair and face if you dare touch them.  Nope.  Wasn't my house…that's right, it had burned down.  Well, in that case…

Where in the name of Judecca WAS I?!

I bolted up in bed (that's right, bed), making a cotton sheet flap to the side.  I was still in the clothes I was previously in, minus my gun.  The holster was there, but the Ruger wasn't.  Good.  At least I still had my clothes; the gun could be found and reclaimed.  I know what you're thinking, and DON'T.  It never hurts to be a little bit overprotective, and at times, prude.  It helps to know that the person whose bed you're in isn't a pervert.  That's always a plus.  Well, maybe a downside.  You have less reason to kill them later for taking you in the first place.  And people these days seem to look down on killing people for seeing you in your knickers or less.  Oh well, that's the justice system these days.  Rock on, 5th Amendment.

I looked around the room.  Powder blue watermark wallpaper covered the walls, and the thick-looking beige carpeting was a perfect reflection of the ceiling.  A large, light wood paneled chest of drawers and dresser set took up two walls, the chest of drawers serving as a stand for a huge mirror that reflected whoever used the king-sized, blue-sheeted bed or the matching night stand.  Hey, it all matched.  There must have been a sale somewhere.  And I missed it.  Big loss.  Sunlight streamed through a large bay window next to the dresser, giving me a perfect view of the street below.  A small digital clock was on the nightstand, and according to it, it was approximately 9:37 in the morning.  Great.  I swung my feet over the side of the bed and slowly stood up, leaning on the nightstand for support.  Now to find my host…and beat them mercilessly.

My briefcase was hanging on the brass doorknob.  Considerate.  I opened it and removed a long, leather-sheathed object.  Heh, I never left home without my bread knife.  MY knife.  The knife I did all my side work with, the knife I dissected organs and such with.  It had been with me since day one, and I carried it everywhere.  I tried to take it on an airplane with me once, and it raised such hell I was searched about four times before having to put it in the bag I'd already checked.  Not a fun trip, but hey.  You do what you have to when you have to.  I unsheathed my silver beauty, seeing my disheveled face in the reflection of the blade.  I winced.  I looked like hell, and frankly, I felt it too.  No matter, there was other business to attend to.  Rolling up the sheath, I stuck it in my pocket and grasped the blade in an outward slash position.  If I had to fling up my arms, it would wind up slashing vertically.  Natural defense.  Kama training is an invaluable skill.  Learn it.

Quietly, I opened the door and peered around.  Not an apartment, that was for certain.  A small house.  A light blue set of furniture decorated a lush living room, and an entertainment system dominated the far wall.  Not a bad one, either.  Top of the line, flat-screen TV and surround sound.  DVD and VCR, probably a turntable in that mess somewhere.  A kitchen to my far right.  I could see a stovetop from the doorframe.  Huh.  Not bad.  The house in all seemed very new-age, with several impressionist paintings and other random knickknacks scattered about at strategic intervals, both hung on walls and perched on wrought-iron pedestals.  Nice.  Well, the scenery was nice, but eh.  I'd seen better.  Not many, though.  And not by much.

After searching for about half an hour and finding nothing (except a nice dinette set and a fine selection of china, crystal and cutlery), I found myself in the kitchen.  Commercial stuff all the way, apparently this person didn't skimp.  Not bad.  There was a piece of paper taped to the black oven door.  Curious as I was, I read it.  And immediately felt stupid.

_Kira,_

_I figured you'd come to the kitchen first.  Following your  
stomach, and all that.  Do I know you or what?  
You've obviously woken up if you're reading this.  Help   
yourself with anything in the kitchen for breakfast.  When  
you get finished, there are new clothes on the counter  
for you.  Feel special, I'm sacrificing some of my clothes  
for your use.  When you get done, come on down to the  
lab.  Your car is outside.  I'll meet you there.  I'll explain  
the accommodations as well.  By the way, you gave the   
officers a pretty big scare yesterday..  You'll probably enjoy   
having a bit more respect coming out of this.  I'm glad for  
you.  Now hurry up and get down here, this note is getting  
long and it's wasting time, which is scant as it is.    
Tick tock, tick tock.  
  
Elwood Lecter_

_P.S.  Your gun is in your car.  Don't go rooting through  
my stuff looking for it.  Thanks._

Well, didn't I feel sheepish.  Never assume, Kira.  You'll make an ass out of you and me.

…Where did I hear that before?

***

I walked down the halls of the clinic wearing one of Elwood's neatly-pressed white button-down shirts and a pair of too-big navy slacks.  It clashed with the pumps I'd been wearing earlier, but hey.  Some sacrifices must be made, and there was no way my size 6 feet were fitting into Elwood's size 12 loafers.  Nope, sorry, not doing it.  I have my boundaries.  Leave me alone.

I got to my office and found another note taped on my door, telling me to go to Lab #2.  Ah, Rook's lab.  Fun.  I got to the lab in no time, and found both Rook and Elwood leaned over a microscope.  Elwood looked up as I entered, and flashed me an amused grin.  I suddenly had the urge to smack it off of him.  Gritting my teeth and clenching my fist, I smiled weakly and walked over.

"Morning," Elwood greeted brightly.  "I see they fit.  Those are the smallest clothes I own, so you should be thankful you have anything at all."  He looked thoughtful.  "Of course, that wouldn't have been too-"  He was cut off by Rook's head snapping up into his jaw.  Thank you, Rook.

"Dr. Devereaux!  Good morning, ma'am!"  Rook was looking up, the same spunky, 'I'm a morning person, tra la la la la' look on his angular face.  The grin vanished as he eyed my getup.  "Um…ma'am?  I've never seen you wear men's clothes before…"

"They're mine," Elwood groaned, massaging his jaw.  "Her clothes were too dirty, so when she was sleeping, I gave her new ones Considerate of me after a night like last night."

"Yours-…Oh…You two-…oh, my."  Rook's eyes got wide, and he developed a look of pure scarring.  I knew just what Elwood was thinking: 'Look, I broke his brain.  Isn't it funny?'

I felt an angry blush creep into my cheeks.  "That is NOT what Elwood meant, Rook, and you know it."

"Sure, sure, whatever you say, Doctor," Rook donned a sloppy grin.  "You could have just told me, you know.  I'd have been happy for you and all that.  But really, I never really saw it coming!  You and Dr. Lecter?  Well, it's just downright-"

By this point, I was lunging at Rook over the countertop and had pinned him to the floor, screaming curses and threats.  Elwood was doubled over with laugher, and so was Rook.  I quit cursing for a while and somehow the rage of the misunderstanding seemed stupid.  I started to laugh as well.  About five minutes later, after everyone had composed themselves, Elwood and I explained what had happened (rather, Elwood explained, I listened).  Apparently when I had fainted, since there was nowhere for me to go, Elwood volunteered his house for refuge.  Rook seemed to understand, though he kept giving the both of us knowing looks.  I still wanted to smack it off of him.  I almost did, until Rook handed me a picture of the symbol I found.

"What is this?"  I studied the picture.  Yep, the triangle within the circle, with all the funny markings.

"That's what you get to find out today."  Elwood interjected.  "The body found has already had an autopsy- Angela Orosco, dead by burns and knife wounds, White Claudia in her system, probably suicide.  It's all in the report, there's a copy on your desk if you get a chance to read it.  You get easy work for a while, sweetie, so be glad.  Angela…wasn't a pretty sight, if you know what I mean."  He winced.  I did know what he meant, and I mirrored his expression.  I put the picture in my pocket.  Great.  I get book work now.  Eh, I wasn't complaining though.  It got me out of the office and away from implications and speculations.  And frankly, I was thinking that Elwood wouldn't have minded if the implications were true.  What was sad was that I almost agreed with him.  Stupid, STUPID Kira.  You meet the wierdest people in the wierdest places, but the good thing is they're all attractive.  All the men, at least.  Babes, all of them.  Hey, I wasn't complaining.  But I had a feeling Dr. Proudmoore was.  It was common knowledge that she had a bit of a crush going on with Elwood, and he had no clue.  Oh well, what you don't know won't hurt you.  It might kill you, but never hurt you.  And there is a difference.  I knew that for a fact.

***

I flipped through the pages of a symbol dictionary and sighed in disgust.  Nothing, after 4 hours of hard looking in the largest library in the county.  I shoved the book aside and buried my face in my hands.  Well, considering I had nothing to really look up, and you can't search with a symbol, I was sort of S.O.L.  So I let my mind wander.  Clues clues, any clues wandering about in my brain?

Suddenly a name flashed into my mind.  Samael.  The name that had flashed though my subconscious on more than one occasion, and was mentioned at several times by several unbalanced people.  One had shot me, the other had scared me.  Same difference.  Eh, what the hell.  I walked to a reference computer and typed in the word 'Samael'.  The computer beeped compliantly.

**ONE MATCH**

**REF 734.29 ANCIENT GODS AND DEMONS AND THE RELIGIONS ASSOCIATED**

**ONE COPY  CHECKED IN**

Hot dog.  I raced to the reference section, almost knocking an aging librarian down the stairs and bumping into several people on the way.  734.29…Got it.  A black, leather-bound book was half-sticking out of a shelf, a string bookmark strung in place.  I opened the book to the marked page, and immediately my jaw dropped.

The symbol I'd been looking for was emblazoned across a two-page spread.  The caption beneath read, **The mark of Samael**.  Nothing more.  Huh.

There was a bit of red scribble on a corner.  Ball point pen.  An address.

**312 Raegan Boulevard  
Brahms  
The Mercifully Damned Bookstore**

Hot dog.  Strike that, rephrase it.  Can we say, "hot lead", children?  

I sure could.

~~~

Reviews=More chapters!  Not many more to go, peoples…keep it up!


	15. Chapter Fifteen: Guide

A/N: Happy birthday to me, Happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear Rei-Sama…Happy birthday to me!

Whee!  Birthday, nyo!  Since I'm the one who's supposed to be getting presents, it seems a bit off that I'm giving you, the readers, another chapter.  A present.  Oh well…I'm just a generous person.  (Audience: "Like hell!")  But in any case, everyone's happy, ne?  Ne.  Sooo…without further ado, I present to you chapter fifteen.  I'm off to eat cake and ice cream and open presents.  Yayisms!

Oh, by the by, you can buy James' t-shirt here.  Hee hee.  Dress like the psychopath!  You know you want to!

Pax!  
~Rumer ("Joyeaux anniversaire…Quel age as-tuuuuuuuuuuu?")

Autopsy Report: Chapter Fifteen

The Mercifully Damned Bookstore was a small store on the corner of Raegan and Black.  Black, heavy-looking curtains shielded the inside from any outsider's prying eye, and the only thing distinguishing it from an abandoned Hot Topic was the neon-red sign that proclaimed the store's name.  I parked my Audi several blocks away, out of the obviously bad neighborhood.  Hey, better safe than sorry.  I didn't want to come back and find my car on blocks.  Nope, that would more break my day than make it.  And it would break other things too.  Like the face of the punk who was responsible.  Oh, I'd have fun hunting that kid down and hurting him…but that was exactly the reason I took the extra five minutes and parked away from the hot zone.  Apparently people don't like getting beaten up over vandalism…and it's not exactly…legal.  I've said it before and I'll say it again- rock on, Fifth Amendment.

I'd gone home and changed before going out.  Business suits weren't common around this neck of the woods, but faded black jeans, a blood-red tank top, and a long leather overcoat was.  The black combat boots set the whole ensemble off with a bang.  Or was it the buckled wristband?  Whatever the case, I blended in perfectly.  Just another punk.  Me, a punk?  Naw.  I felt in my pockets and made sure the Ruger was still there.   It was.  Good.  You never know.  The worn wooden handle of my bread knife nudged my ribs as I walked, but I didn't mind.  Didn't need to feel for my secondary weapon, it made its presence known.  I felt the light bulge in my coat pocket.  The radio and Flauros were still there as well, just in case.  Again, you never know.  I crossed over in front of the store and without a second glance, pulled the tarnished steel handle forward and stepped inside.

A heavy wave of incense washed over me the second I set foot in the door.  It clouded my senses, as if it was drawing a heavy curtain over all my instincts.  My eyes watered with the strength of the scent.  The room was dark already, and the tears weren't making it any better.  So, I closed my eyes for a moment and focused on clearing my vision.  It worked; when I opened my eyes, the atmosphere didn't cloud up as much.  Point for me.  I looked around the room slowly, letting my vision adjust to the dim lighting.  The store looked like something out of an ancient torture chamber/library, with a bit of demonic flair thrown in for flavor.  From pentacles and cloaks to crystal balls and incense burners, this store was like Satan's supply closet.  Well, I guess the title of the store wasn't a bluff.  Long, glass-paned cases were set up along a far wall, serving as an impromptu cash counter.  A large, old-fashioned cash register sat in the very middle of the paneling, and a blood-red curtain hung in a doorway directly behind it.  No one was manning the register, but there was some guy browsing through the miscellaneous demon skulls on a shelf beside the casing.  He looked up when I entered, and I barely kept from gasping.  He looked like an experiment with a nail gun gone horribly wrong.  Piercings hung off every visible orifice, and I guessed that there were several in places that didn't show.  I guess I was staring.

"What are you looking at?"  the kid drawled.  Jeez, what did he think I was looking at?!  He was wearing baggy pants that could hide a cooler from Sears, buckles that would get DSS and a "No Fear" t-shirt.  I snickered to myself.  Hey, if I wanted to see fear in this kid's face, I'd whip out a magnet.  That would turn him WHITE.  Heh, not that that was possible, this kid looked like Casper already.  Didn't need to traumatize the younger generation too much, now did I?  Of course not.  That would be mean.  Fun, but mean.  But then, I didn't care.  So it was okay.

I didn't get the chance to come back with a sarcastic yet cutting remark, because the kid raced past me and out the door.  Hey, my caustic thoughts must have cut him to the quick.  Or not.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw a man standing behind the register, staring directly at me.  Through the haze, I was barely able to make out his features.

He was about 6'2" with a lanky build.  He was toned, I could tell, but it barely showed.  Shaggy blonde hair fell in his piercing blue eyes and shadowed his gaunt features, which at one point would have been considered handsome.  Now he looked like a skeleton.  A black vampire emoticon t-shirt was hung over his chest, and he wore faded black jeans that looked like they should have been thrown out a long time ago.  Scars crisscrossed over his pale arms, making a grotesque pattern up into the sleeves.  I knew there would be more under the shirt, but I didn't care to see if I was right.  At this point, I was figuring out why that kid ran out.

The man fixed me with an unwavering gaze, watching my every move.  It was unnerving.  It was creepy.  It pissed me off.  I wandered over to the bookshelves and looked through copies of the _Necronomicon_, Practical Voodoo, and _The Book of the Dead_.  Nothing having to do with Samael…at least nothing I could see.  I had the nagging fear that if I touched some of the books on the shelves they would steal my soul the second I opened them.  Not a pointless fear in this situation, but still.

"If you're not going to buy anything, then leave!"

I jumped.  Turning on my heel, I looked to see the speaker, and jumped again.  The man from behind the counter was less than a foot away, staring directly into my face.  Gulp.

"I'm looking for information about Samael…I saw your store and decided to take a look.  Can you help, or do I have to summon the demon and ask HIM?"

That shook him.  Ha ha, point for me.  He looked at me as if I had lobsters crawling out of my ears, then strode past me and started thumbing through books.  After a moment, he came up with a leather-bound, string-spined volume, and opened it.  He leafed through several pages before stopping, and he handed it to me with not so much as a smile.  Okay, two could play at that game.  I took the book without expression and looked at the page where he'd stopped.  I felt my eyes get wider, and my jaw slightly dropped.

**_Samael_**_   
__Ruler of the Fifth Heaven, Samael has been regarded as one of the greatest and one of the most dreaded Angels operating in Heaven. Samael represents the severity of God, but also the power to achieve Victory over Adversity and Adversaries through Virtue with great Power. Hence, this Angel should be a Patron to all those who do battle on the battlefield, in the courtroom, and in all occupations of Law, Politics, Government and the Military. Samael was regarded as the serpent who tempted Eve in the Garden of Eden, drawing to himself the position and distinction as Chief of Satans.  Samael has been described as the most beautiful of Archangels. Many of the Archangels are said to have six wings. Samael, like Metatron, is said to have twelve. He is also known as the most prominent "Angel of Death" and is attributed to Mars.  There was a movement to re-evaluate all beliefs and ideals again in the light of new understanding, not to judge but to allow things to be as they are, but some disagreed with this motion.__Scholars proposed that Samael ruled the earth prior to the Archangel Gabriel, from 1190-1510 A.D. During his reign, many rulers and leaders were overthrown. Samael is also attributed to Mars, often thought of as a planet signifying war and conflict. If we go to the essence of the present energy of Mars, then it could also be the possibility of further awakening; of finding the discipline to do what we know is necessary for our development._

When I finished reading, I felt the beginnings of a cold sweat.  So people in Silent Hill were followers of Satan.  So Satan was trying to make his presence known.  I thought of all the things I'd seen…the mark on my room, the White Claudia, the mutilations of the bodies, the profundity of the deaths…now that I'd thought about it, the reminded me of different forms of a sacrifice.

_Sacrifice…_

I dropped the book and cupped both hands over my mouth, struggling not to throw up.  The fumes made it worse, and tears sprang to my eyes once more.  I dropped to my knees, started to rock back and forth, and concentrated on not throwing up.

_Iwon'tthrowupIwon'tthrowupIwon'tthrowupIwon'tthrowupIwon'tthrowup…_

Eventually the nausea died down, and I managed to flop backwards onto my rump.  The man still hovered over me a few feet away, and the book lay on the floor.  I looked at the man, and he looked back.  My fear was replaced with rage as I stared into his eyes, and I could tell he sensed it.  I staggered to my feet, dropped my hands, and gave him a look of daggers.

"Why in the hell didn't you help me?  You saw what was going on!  You just watched!  What in the hell is wrong with you?!"  I raised my hand to strike him, and as I swung, he caught my wrist in midair.  He stared into my eyes and shoved me away.  I rubbed my wrist reproachfully, and continued to glare.  The man bent over and picked up the book.  He caressed its cover, almost lovingly, and held it out to me.

"Are you going to buy this?  If you're not, then get out."

I felt my rage peak.  "Who in the hell do you think you are?"

"My name is James Sunderland.  Who in the hell do you think YOU are?"

Okay, that answer took me a bit by surprise.  Sunderland.  As in, Mary Sunderland.  Possible relations.  Shit.

"My name is Kira Devereaux.  Do you know a Mary Sunderland, perhaps?  I work with her, and since you both scare the shit out of me, it seemed like you could be related."

There was a stunned silence before the answer.  "You are Kira Devereaux?"  There was a surprised lilt to his voice that hadn't been there a moment earlier.

"I am.  You know me?"

"You could say that."

I had just enough time to see the hand speeding toward my neck before I felt a blow, and dropped to the floor.  The world went black before I'd even hit the ground.

***

I woke to the smell of hot liquid, and something hot and bitter being pushed between my lips.  I regained enough consciousness to spit it out.  A cry sounded behind my eyelids, and curiosity forced my eyes open.

I was propped upright in a rather rickety-feeling chair, in what I guessed was the back of the store.  James was crouching close by, rubbing his eyes and holding a chipped mug of some unappetizing looking liquid.  I almost smiled, it was fun to see people who had just earlier caused me pain in pain.  I moved my head for a better look, and immediately regretted it.  A burning pain was centered on my neck, from where the blow had obviously landed.  I winced, and waited for the pain to subside.

"Didn't anyone teach you that spitting is a vulgar habit?"

I opened my eyes,  James was kneeling in front of me, empty-handed.  The mug was on the nearby counter.  Good.  I squirmed.

"Didn't anyone teach you that knocking people out isn't nice?"

"Touche."  James pulled another chair from behind me somewhere and sat down.  I looked past him and gazed around the room.  Stacks of books and boxes lined the walls, and cobwebs adorned the corners and rafters.  Yes, rafters.  There were rafters in the back of the store, and with the dimness, I couldn't make out the ceiling.  I wasn't sure I wanted to, either.  I turned my attention back to James, who had crossed his legs and was staring at me with a look of utmost interest.

"So, you've gone through all the trouble to knock me out, take me back here, and poison me.  What in the hell do you want from me?"

James cleared his throat.  "First, I didn't poison you.  It's a painkiller.  Second, I did what I did because I'd never have gotten you to listen to me otherwise."

I wondered if he thought of saying, 'Hey, I need to tell you something you might find useful.  Want to get some coffee?'.  Probably not.  My stomach let loose a growl.  Coffee sounded really good right now, not the gloppy shit he was trying to force-feed me.

"I know you've been in charge of looking into all the Silent Hill murders.  You've been doing the autopsies.  Not a pretty sight, eh?  Didn't think so.  These people didn't just die your typical run-of-the-mill style, as you've probably guessed.  No, something special happened to them."  James rummaged around in his pocket and pulled out a small glass bottle.  It was filled with a white powdery substance.  He tossed it to me, and I caught it.  "What do you think this is?"

I opened the stopper and wafted the scent towards my nose.  I recognized the bitter scent immediately, I'd smelled it in the autopsy labs before.  It was the same smell the dried blood had, the smell of a substance separated from the blood of the victims and packaged to blandness.  I knew the scent…very well.

"It's White Claudia, isn't it?"  My voice wavered a bit.  I tossed the bottle back to James, who caught it one-handed.  He nodded, and put it away.

"White Claudia.  Did you know this drug was used in ancient rituals, used to bring demons to this plane of existence?"

Right.  I shook my head.

"The people you dissected weren't ordinary people.  They were avatars of the most evil demon who ever existed, the Chief of Satans, Samael.  These people had belonged to a cult formed to bring about the rebirth of Samael, and these people were just power sources for his evil.  I know…I went through hell.  I was almost a sacrifice myself, and I overcame.  I overcame…at a terrible price.  But that doesn't matter.  What does matter is that Samael will come back, sooner or later, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop it.

"There's something else…I was the one who killed Eddie.  I saw Angela die.  And Maria…"  James shook his head.  "You won't see Maria."

O-kay, this guy was either a really good liar or a very bad truthsayer.  Hardly anything he was saying was making sense, except for the confession to killing Eddie and seeing Angela die.  That part seemed clear to me.  The rest was just a huge blot.  In any case, I'd just about had enough.  I stood, ignoring the wave of pain that washed over me.

"Listen, James, I'm gonna go.  I'm a forensic pathologist, not a psychiatrist.  Get it straight.  You're starting to really freak the shit out of me, and I don't appreciate it.  Call my clinic if you have to, but please, leave me alone."  I walked to the door.

"KIRA!  Don't tell anyone!  Do you hear me?  I will kill you if you do!  Mark my words, I will!"

Words ringing in my ears, I opened the front door and stepped outside.  The night air felt like heaven compared to the inside of the store, and I was duly thankful for the breeze.  I reached in my pocket and took out my pocket recorder.  It was still on.  Smart of me to turn it on before going in.  I turned it off, put it away, and started to run.  Death threat or no, this evidence had to be taken to the office.  Whatever could help, could help, and who was I to stand in the way of the judicial branch at work?  I crossed the street at the light and started to race to my car when the radio in my pocket started to ring.  Dumbfounded, I took the little red radio out and looked at it.  Huh.  I'd left it on accidentally.  As I was examining the little radio incredulously, someone lunged out at me from the alley. 

There was no time to draw the Ruger.  The person swung its fist at me and I caught their arm.  I almost dropped it.  The flesh felt dead under my fingers, and I knew what dead flesh felt like.  While I was marveling at the cold meat I was holding, the person hit me with their other arm, knocking me to the pavement.  When I looked up from the gravel, the person had a metal pole in their hands.  The person swung at me, missed and abruptly turned around.  I scrambled away from it and tried to get up.  I only managed to fall face-first on the cement again.  I looked up, and found the moonlight streaming on my attacker's face.

It had at one point been a woman.  But her features were so leprous and dead that I couldn't possibly rule her out as anything _but_ dead.  She looked like a walking cadaver.  So, being the sensible person I was, I screamed.  That seemed to startle the woman; she froze for a moment and took a stagger backwards.  I took that time to fumble for the Ruger.  Nothing; James must have taken it from me earlier.  Shit.  But I felt the worn-wooden handle of my bread knife, and that was better than nothing.  I flung myself to a crouching position, drew the shining blade and swung it outward in one movement.  I watched almost in slow motion as the torso separated from the rest of the body of my attacker.  Blood spattered the sidewalk, stained my face and sprayed my clothes with crimson.  The woman let out a low moan and collapsed, the two halves of the body flopping to different sides of the pavement.  The pipe fell to the ground with a clang.

I dropped my bread knife, panting heavily, and waited for the adrenaline rush to subside.  As it did, a wave of nausea enveloped my senses, and I turned to throw up.  After emptying my stomach of its contents on the ground, I leaned against the wall and scrunched my eyes closed.  I had just killed that…thing…

_What in the hell was going on…?_

I barely had time to answer my own question before a sharp pain ripped through my leg.  I looked down and saw the beast-dog from several nights earlier tearing at my leg, snapping at my jeans, trying to get at my flesh.  I screamed and kicked out with all my might, and saw that the beast's eyes burned blood red.  I screamed again, and the dog lunged.

Bang.

A shot shattered the snarls of the dog, and it fell to the ground dead, a gaping hole in its chest cavity.  Blood pooled around it, mixing with that of the woman.  It shone a burgundy red in the street lamplight, and I fought off yet another wave on nausea.  I turned my head to see my savior, and my hopes fell flat when I saw who it was.

James.  He walked towards me, shotgun in hand, pointed directly at the dog.  He seemed afire with an unearthly strength; I could feel the power ripple over my skin.  Whatever he was…he definitely wasn't a normal human.  I felt fear rising in the back of my throat.

"What the hell was that?!"  I asked, as soon as I'd found my voice.

"Demons…monsters…you're seeing them too…"  James swung the barrel of the shotgun from the dog to point at me.  "You're descending into darkness.  You don't realize, Kira, that you are the reason this hell is coming back!  Leading the Prince of Darkness back to this world!  Guiding him!  I won't stand for it!  You're getting in over your head, and you're about to drown!"  He pumped the shotgun, and aimed it.  "I was supposed to be the one to resurrect Samael, not you!  Not a stupid fscking doctor!  Me!  He told me that I was the one!"  His hand started to shake, as well as his voice.  Hell, so was I.

"Well, if I can't do it, then NO ONE will!"

I seemed to be a popular target nowadays.

Shit.

~~~

Reviews=More chapters!  Just one more to go, folks, let's make that last sprint for the finish line!!!


	16. Announcement

Important announcement:  
  
There will be no updates for at least a week. I will be in New York, watching my grandfather die. I will finish this story, but give me time. Please.  
  
God help my grandpa.and me.  
  
~Rumer 


	17. Chapter 16: Threats and Promises

A/N: Hello, everyone…

Grandpa died while we were in New York, and he went peacefully and painlessly.  He came out of the coma long enough to say goodbye to all his children, and that is just…something, for lack of a better word.  Thank you for your prayers and your thoughts…they were much appreciated.  You should all be made saints for your understanding.  Again, I thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

Emerald Embers: I too am Roman Catholic, so it's all cool.  Thanks! ^_^

Fanboy: One thing I've noticed is that when people write badly, they ask for reviews.  I let the reader decide for his/herself whether the story is WORTH reviews.  And I find it hardly motivates people to say, "GIVE ME REVIEWS OR I SHALL BREAK YOUR KNEECAPS!  KNEECAPS, I SAY!!!"

Now then…I believe you all are in need of another chapter, ne?  Here you go.  I know I promised this would be the last chapter, but it got too long and I've several more scenes to write in.  Plus, I figured you'd start sending me hitmen to make me write more…heh.  But here you go, my faithful readers…another chapter.

Let the hounds sleep, they need their beauty rest.  This story will be finished before Christmas, I swear it.

Pax!  
~Rumer ("I'm the master of fright, and a demon of light and I'll scare you right out of your pants…")

Autopsy Report: Chapter Sixteen

When someone's pointing a high-caliber shotgun at you at relatively close range with intent to harm/kill, you have one of three options.  You can sit there and take the shot and ultimately die.  Yeah, right.  Like I was just going to sit there and go quietly.  Wrong-o.  You can try to run, which will only make shooting you a little harder.  With blood seeping down my chew-toy of a leg, I doubted I was going anywhere without help.  Or, for the last choice, you can throw yourself towards the shooter and hope that he wasn't already squeezing the trigger.  The last option is a 50/50 chance- a gamble.  If it works, then most likely you'll come out of the struggle on top.  If it doesn't, well, then you don't have to worry.  You'll be dead before you have time to think about it.  Not much room for improvisation, but beggars can't be choosers, now can they?

Considering the situation I was in, I opted for choice number three.  I lunged at James as well as my chewed leg would allow, and despite the white-hot pain rocketing through my leg, I hit something solid.  I had slammed right into my target, and with a loud cry we hit the pavement.  James slammed the butt of the shotgun into the ground and apparently pulled the trigger, and it went off.  The round hurtled harmlessly into the night sky, and I scrabbled for the weapon.  A moment later, I had the shotgun and James was lying in the street, staring up the barrel.  Heh, how was that for turning the tables?

"Get up," I said in a voice that would have melted steel.  James stood slowly, eyes fixed on me.  "Face the wall, and lean against it with your arms."  He complied, and I suppressed a sigh.  I had him right where I wanted him.  If only I had my cell phone, I could get this guy behind bars without having to march his sorry ass to the station at gunpoint.  Yeah, they must have some law about that too…somewhere.  Buried in the state constitution.  And despite all that mess, someone manages to read it, so even if I did march him down there, I'd probably get the book thrown at me for intended assault.  Go figure.

Before I could worry more about finding suitable means of detainment, a car horn blared through the silence and a pair of bright lights pierced the night.  I let out a cry and tried to shield my eyes from the light, but to no avail.  My one moment of being impaired was all James needed, and before I knew it, I found myself being grabbed from behind, arms held tight.  Something swept my feet out from under me, and I was on my knees in a split second.  I felt James kneel on my ankles, keeping my legs in place.  The shotgun had long since fallen from my grasp; I could barely see the glint of metal in the glare of the light.  Then, as quickly as it had come, the light vanished.  I closed my eyes for a moment to adjust, and when I opened them again, I was face to face with Mary Sunderland.

Shit.

Actually, I could barely make out who it was. My sight was still full of dancing stars and spirals, so focusing was sort of out of the question. So how did I know it was Mary? Pretty simple: I sensed her. Yeah, right. Me, the average girl, sensing anything? Now, I've pretty much been normal as far as the standards go. But this was something else altogether. This was sort of a vibe. Mary's power rushed over me in a wave, washed along my skin, made goosebumps rise. And her name was written all over that little typhoon. I started to get scared, and when I get scared, I get stupid. Shit.  
  
"Mary?" I growled, "What the hell are you doing here?"  
  
Mary walked over from the lights to stand directly in front of me. From the position James had me in, I could only see her stiletto   
heels. In my opinion, she didn't come to fight, or she would have worn different shoes. Heels are damn hard to run in. I'd done it several times before, but never fought. That thought was painful enough. So I banished any thought that Mary was going to try to hurt me. James, on the other hand, tightened his grip on my arms. He didn't confirm a thing, and that's what started to bother me.  
  
"Kira Devereaux," Mary began in a slate-cool voice, "You shouldn't be here. All odds were against it. But here you are, and here we are, and I suppose you want an explanation."  
  
"If you don't mind," I snarled. James pulled on my hair and I shut up. I rarely got into trouble with silence. Apparently I wasn't getting stupid quite yet.  
  
"It's very simple, really. James, let go of her. She will stay." Complying with Mary's request, James let go of my hair and arms, and got off my calves. I staggered to my feet, and promptly fell against the wall. My leg was screaming at me to sit down, so I did. Relief washed over the bite and I could feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead. At least I didn't pass out. Yea, Kira! But considering the situation, I'd pat myself on the back later.  
  
"Okay…I'm not going anywhere. Tell me what's going on." I winced as white-hot pain crept up my leg, paralyzing nerves and lighting them afire. I'd have to remember to get a tetanus shot later, you never know what's in people's mouths. Animal mouths too, for that matter.  
  
"Well, Kira, you seem to be in quite a fix. You started out doing your job, then you started to play the detective. Not a good choice. Didn't you ever watch ANY scary movies? The one who decides to investigate is the one who gets the unhappy ending. But, in any case, it's too late. You got yourself into this, and you'll have to see it out."  
  
"What do you mean by that?"  
  
"Kira, you've interfered with a millennia-old ritual, in which members of the Cult of Samael ritually attempt to raise him. I assume you know who Samael is."

I glared daggers at her.  "Never forget, Mary, that when you assume, you make an ass out of you and me."  Harry's words echoed in my ears.  They seemed fitting for the moment.

"You're talking like Harry.  I know you've visited him, and he is a fool.  But from your answer, you do know who Samael is.  A demon.  Well, the ritual of which I speak is very important, so important that several sacrifices are needed to make it work."  
  
I did not like the way this conversation was going.  
  
"The sacrifices, by law, cannot be members of the cult itself. So, we were to choose several people to become sacrifices. Oddly enough, those early sacrifices were the ones that you yourself performed autopsies on."  
  
_Oh my God…_  
  
"Earlier this year, Samael was indeed risen for the first time in centuries, and he was then banished by one Harry Mason. Why is he in the asylum? Because no one believed that he didn't kill those people, that he stopped a demon for turning the world into a hell. Well, hell in his idea. Paradise in ours. You see, both James and I are members of this cult."  
  
By this point, my jaw was halfway to the ground and still dropping. James banished the demon, and because his story was so crazy, he was put in the asylum for it? True, the story is pretty unbelievable, but still…  
  
"It was pretty amusing. Poor Harry had gotten into a car crash with his daughter, and when he woke up from the crash, she was gone. Shame that she was chosen to be the avatar for Samael's rebirth. Anyway, he found her, but all the same, he wound up killing her. Everyone he had met in the town died. They were all sacrifices. He was just the extra variable, and that one extra was able to make the entire thing fall apart. That made us mad, Kira. So mad that we condemned him in this life and the next, and after our anger had cooled, we decided to try again.  
  
"However, our plans were almost ruined. Before Harry banished Samael, Samael had mistaken the leader of our cult for an enemy and killed her. So we were leaderless, until fate stepped in.  
  
"Before we knew about Samael, I grew very sick, and James, out of mercy, decided to kill me. So he smothered me in my sleep. I died, and he lived. Later, he came to Silent Hill to find me. He had grown so regretful about his decision to kill me that he came to the town and tried to seek me out. But James didn't realize that dead is dead, and it was pointless. But somehow he survived the town, and afterwards, he became a member of the cult. He revived me with the ancient rituals and we took the lead. And then, we decided to try again to resurrect our lord. This time, not with a child, not with an innocent…but…with you."  
  
I nearly choked. "With…me?!"  
  
Mary nodded. "That's right. You seemed the ideal choice. You knew about Silent Hill, you knew that things were happening. But sadly, our pawn that was supposed to deliver you to us failed. She was to lure you to Silent Hill on the basis of having a body for you to dissect. Well, it happened that the body you dissected was the body of our old leader, Dahlia Gillespie. Dr. Ling was supposed to corner you and take you to the summoning circle by force, but she had a sudden attack of morality. Did you notice how shaken she seemed after you saw her for the last time? Pale? Sweating? That's because she knew what would happen to her for hesitating. That's why she committed suicide, because she didn't want to face the consequences of her actions. True, what she did was wise, because we wouldn't have killed her quickly. We would have drawn it out. It would have been long, slow, and painful."  
  
So much for the "Miss Congeniality" nomination.  
  
"So we decided to let you continue your work for a while, and that's where I stepped in. I had to make you come to me, and with the right clues, you did."  
  
I found my voice. "You mean…you planted that library book? You wrote the address? You steered me here?"  
  
Mary nodded. "That's right. By the way, did you know that you're incredibly easy to manipulate?"  
  
Rage filled my mind and I found myself lunging out at her, to beat her senseless, to choke her, to kill her. But my leg wouldn't allow it. As soon as I started to move, jets of pain shot up my leg, and I couldn't move an inch. I had to gasp for breath and pray for relief from the pain. Me, pray? Sure. In this situation, why not?  
  
"But…what about the girl…?"  
  
"Laura? Oh, that's the next little surprise…" Mary knelt down next to me, her face mere inches from mine. "She's going to be our next attempt…"  
  
My eyes grew wide. "You're going to sacrifice that little girl?!"  
  
Mary stood up again and looked down at me. "Sacrifice Laura? Oh, no. We're merely going to give her the great honor of being Samael's host!  Perhaps she'll be a better avatar than you…or Alessa…or even Cheryl."

_Cheryl…Harry's daughter…she was a sacrifice?!_

I heard Harry's voice in my ear: _"I predict you will be seeing my daughter soon, Kira.  I think…she will be a client."_  
  
The blind rage took over again and I lunged forward.  Before I'd gotten a foot from my starting point, I received a kick in the ribs from James, who had been standing nearby like a sentinel the entire time. I clutched at my ribcage, massaging the point where his boot had made contact. I rolled on the ground, fighting to regain my lost wind.  Tears welled in my eyes.  "I swear to God, you stupid bastards…if you hurt that little girl…I will make both of your sufferings be double hers…"  James silenced me with another kick.  Such a ladies' man.  I coughed once, and blood spattered the pavement.  
  
"And Kira…no matter where you go, no matter who you tell, no one will believe you. We are willing to let you go, provided you leave quickly and quietly. If you refuse...we have more than one way to silence you."  Wow, James had finally decided to speak.  And those two little sentences pretty much made up for all his silence.  Still, I wondered if these promises and threats were truly valid ones.  James seemed pretty determined to beat the shit out of me no matter what I did, and Mary was more than capable of destroying me socially.  
  
I thought it over in my head. With the blood pounding in my ears and the adrenaline racing through my bloodstream, it was amazing I could think clearly at all, but there you go.  But back to the problem: should I go away and never speak a word to anyone about a secret demonic cult that's planning on sacrificing a child to a demon, or should I try to stop it?  
  
Take a wild guess what I chose.  
  
Without giving myself time to think about it anymore (and ultimately decide against it), I launched myself at James. He held the shotgun, and I figured that if I had that, I could stand a chance. Before he knew what was happening, I grabbed the butt of the gun, wrenched it around, and suddenly it went off. James had somehow pulled the trigger when I jerked it around.  He screamed once, a sharp, cutting sound, and his insides were suddenly plastered against the side of the brick wall.  
  
James stood for a moment, looked at the gun, looked at Mary, looked at me. Then he toppled over like an overbalanced scale.  
  
I gasped for breath, feeling the rush of adrenaline flooding through my system begin to fade, and slumped against the wall, cradling the shotgun in my arms. I felt the slimy remains of James' innards as I slid my way to the pavement.  The pain began to replace the sense of euphoria the endorphins and adrenaline had provided, and, letting out a sigh of defeat, I passed out.

The last thing that went through my mind was that James' threat wouldn't be fulfilled.  Joy.

But the problem was…neither would mine.

~~~

Reviews=ONE MORE CHAPTER!!!  I PROMISE!!!…and maybe an epilogue.  *grin*


	18. Chapter 17: A Long Time To Decide

A/N:  Woot!  Last chapter!  Hee hee…just in time for Christmas!

Seiika Reichi: Hee…wanna end up like James?  *evil grin*  Didn't think so.

Armageddon313: Yup, that's the plan…just waiting for Konami to hurry up and finish SH3…

Ashley Michelle J. Pineapple 4: No particular ending style chosen…well, for SH it was the Bad version, for SH2 it was the Good+ alternate ending, where James turns to Samael and he resurrects Mary.  Sooo…*shrug*

Soviet Inclination: You're absolutely right.  Merci for catching me on that little scrape ^_^; Mucho cookies to you!

Homunculus: Sowwy, I don't give out my email.  But I would be willing to chat on AIM.

Ehe…don't crucify me since the court scene is sorta choppy…didn't wanna offend any (potential) lawyers out there, and since I really don't know how an actual court proceeding works, I had to chop off bits and pieces.  Forgive me, in the spirit of Christmas!!!  ^_^;

So, without further ado, the concluding chapter of Autopsy Report.  If you feel a little unfulfilled, wait before judging, and read the epilogue.  It will make it all worthwhile, I promise.  ^_~

Pax!  
~Rumer ("We know who we are, but not what we may be…")

Autopsy Report: Chapter Seventeen

The first hint that I wasn't dead was the pain.  Agony was throbbing in my bones, as though someone had picked me up, thrown me down, and had been wearing cleats when they stomped on me.  What did I do to combat this?  Simple.  I rolled back into total oblivion, and began to drift.  I don't know how far or for how long, but I drifted.  The moon went out, the tide came in, and everything was in total balance.  I felt as if I was part of a painting that had run together, thoughts and emotions tumbling one over the other in cascades.  Bits of speech, music, scrambled about my mind, revealing themselves in short fragments.  With each new fragment, pain came.  
_  
**Beyond the reach of human range**   
"-et out of my way, Elw-"  
**A drop of Hell, a touch of strange**   
"-ve her alone!  You don't know-"  
**A different place**  
"-killed my husband-"  
**A different time**  
"-like to file a lawsuit-"  
**It's the beginning of the end  
**"**-**you talking about, Mary?  She-"**  
Of the entire human race  
**"-see.  We'll schedule it imme-"**  
The sun is flickering  
**"-wouldn't hurt anyone who wasn't trying to hurt her-"**  
Its fire lost  
**"-court order.  Would you like to-"**  
Blood red rivers  
**"-this way.  The ward for the-"**  
Lust tainted frost  
**"-one wants to be her defense…?"**  
No stars are seen shimmering in this night sky  
 **"t's done is done, can't you just-"**  
For it's as dark as forever  
**"-will regret trifling with me -"**  
On the day the world died.**_

In the midst of my confusion, a voice cut through the fog and blinded me with light.  Would someone close the curtains, please?

"Good morning, Kira.  Open your eyes, see the sunlight outside, feel the breeze on your face, hear the little birdies chirping, and smell the mound of unholy shit you're in."

_Don't make it bad, take a sad song and make it better…_

I opened my eyes, and found myself staring at a really pissed-off looking Jay Haley.  Scary image to wake up to.  Well, I'm not saying that Jay wasn't a scary guy in general, but when he's two inches from your nose, glaring daggers at you, well, that's not the sort of waker-upper that I prefer.  Alarm clocks may be annoying, but they're sure as hell better than a pissed psychiatrist in the wee hours of the morning.  And with the look Jay was giving me, I was half-expecting him to strangle me at any moment.  But his hands were firmly clenched in his lap.  Funny, they looked like they wanted to get ahold of something and choke the life out of it.  Namely me.  I wasn't surprised.  I hadn't lived this long assuming the best.  Assuming the worst was safer, and usually truer.  I knew that for a fact.

"Kira Devereaux, do you have any idea how much shit you're in?"  I blinked, and tried to push away the throbbing that seemed to amass my whole body so I could concentrate.  No such luck, so I looked back.  If looks could kill, I'd have already been dead.  Not a good sign.

"Ah…not really…I sort of just woke up, and truthfully, I feel like crap.  Do you really expect me to think straight?"  I lifted my hand to wipe the sand from my eyes and found that I wasn't able to.  Shifting my gaze from Jay, I saw that my hands were chained to a hospital bed with padded cuffs.  I was tied down at the waist with more pads, and my ankles sported the same (if not larger) cuffs that my hands did.  They were restraining me.  Why in the hell would anyone order my restraint?  I didn't like this at all…and I smelled a rat.  One by the name of Mary Sunderland.

"No, I wouldn't expect you to, Kira," Jay said softly, but still with an edge.  "You've noticed the cuffs.  You're probably wanting an explanation."

"That would be useful…" I relaxed my hands and lay back.  The clean sheets felt good against my bruised, raw skin and I sighed.  This had not been a good year at all.  I'd been beaten, poisoned, shot, bitten, and run over in the space of six months.  There comes a point where you just have too many things happening too close together.  I had battle fatigue.

"According to Dr. Mary Sunderland, you nearly murdered her husband when you shot him with a 10 gauge shotgun.  Also, she says she saw you kill another unidentified woman with your knife, and she accused you of hacking into their computer system.  Those are pretty serious charges, Kira…you'd better have a damn good lawyer to counter Mary's or you'll be put in the pen, easy."

I hadn't heard anything Jay had said after he said I'd 'nearly murdered' James.  "Hold on…did you say, 'nearly murdered'?"

Jay nodded.  "Luckily, the shot just grazed his abdomen, and he's healing nicely.  No infections, nothing too serious.  They didn't even have any lead shot to remove.  He was very, very lucky."  Jay paused a moment.  "The woman, on the other hand, isn't.  You cut her neatly in half, and from her dress and state, she was just a regular bum.  She didn't have any money, weapons, or drugs…an innocent slaughter.  No ID, either, so that makes it very inconvenient.  The hacking was filed because according to Mary, her husband discovered some files missing from his database.  He traced the hacking back to your computer, and you pretty much killed him before he could take it to the authorities.  Also, by the time we got there, you seemed to be hallucinating.  We gave you a blood test and we found drugs in it.  Hallucinogens.  Jesus, Kira!  What in the hell were you doing?"

I thought for a moment.  My face, which had paled considerably during Jay's synopsis, lost whatever color it still had.  "But…I saw his guts explode through his back and hit the wall," I stammered.  Yea, Kira!  Give them the proof they need to make the case! "I slid through them…He was on the ground with a hole in his stomach and the woman was dead before I killed her and I never hacked any computer, someone hacked mine and James force-fed me some concoction in his store- Oh, God…" I turned my head to the side and felt tears welling.  "I never did anything!  Honestly, Jay…I didn't kill anyone…I went to James' store and he knocked me out and he tried to poison me, that must have been the drugs you found…when I tried to get out of there, someone attacked me from the alley and I defended myself…a dog came and chewed on my leg, James blew it apart with a shotgun, then tried to shoot me…I got it away from him but then Mary showed up and I tried to get the gun and James pulled the trigger and he shot himself…"

By this point, I was becoming hysterical.  I could barely speak, and when I did it was coming out high and squeaky, as if I was just then going through the first stages of puberty.  Jay's look of pure loathing melted into seriousness, and God help me, even sympathy.  And for the first time, I appreciated the pity.  Usually I hated anything of the sort, and just sort of brushed it off.  Some days I thought I was becoming a sociopath.  Some days I thought I was already there.

Jay looked deep in thought, and after a moment, he took a set of keys from his pocket and went about unlocking the restraints.

"I don't think you'll need these."  He removed the cuffs gently, almost tenderly, and left me free.  "I'll tell the other doctors not to restrain you for now.  Please, try to get some rest.  The trial isn't until one o'clock tomorrow, and it's six PM now.  Please, Kira, keep your wits about you.  You'll need them."  Wow, Jay was actually being nice.  Then I realized that I needed people like him to keep me sane, to remind me that the world wasn't going to stop spinning because I felt it should.  I hated needing people.  They always had a tendency to die on me.  It wasn't a good situation, but I figured Jay was pretty safe.  He hung out with psychopaths and shrinks for a living, how could he possibly be in danger?  I nearly laughed at that.  But I was too miserable to manage anything but an amused-sounding sob.  I sat up, pulled my knees to my chest, and began to weep.  I hadn't wept in a hell of a long time, and I guess that all the emotion that had been built up just let go when Jay told me that I might be going to prison for crimes I never committed.  Through my sobs, I heard Jay get up and leave the room.  The door clicked closed behind him.  I knew how awful I looked.  Red face, mouth lopsided, nostrils flared, eyes red and puffy.  I'd seen myself crying before, and I didn't like it.  Real crying is like real sex.  If you do it right, it isn't pretty.  And I was doing it perfectly.

After several minutes of wracking sobs, I quieted down and just sniffled and hiccoughed a bit.  My hair was damp and matted; my pajamas were soaked with tears (they give you pajamas in psycho wards, but shower curtains in hospitals.  Wow.), and I highly doubted they'd give me another set.  So, shivering and wet, lungs sore and face soggy, I pulled the blanket around me and slept.

***

For once, I had a dreamless sleep.  Well, if I did dream, I didn't remember anything, because when I woke up, it was morning.  Sunlight was streaming through the glorified portholes of windows, making golden streaks across the white tiled floor.  I sat up and looked around.  The restraints were gone, and I had another blanket draped over me.  Jay, considerate?  Naw.  He probably asked someone else to do it.  No matter.  A patch of green across the room caught my eye, and I tried to focus.  It's never smart to fall asleep with your contacts in.  When my eyes cleared, I saw that there was an ivy green pleated skirt and matching blouse and jacket hung on the back of the door, and there were hose and a pair of black pumps next to them on the tile.  Okay, now I was beginning to get scared.  Where would Jay get pantyhose?  Or pumps, for that matter?  Hell, where did he get ANY of these clothes?  I was hoping he had a wife, or a girlfriend.  I'd never bothered to ask.  Shows me how totally out of the loop I was.  Or maybe how lazy I was.  Take your pick; six in one hand, half dozen in the other.

I looked at the plain clock hanging on the wall.  Ten twenty.  Good, I had time.  I slid out of bed (wincing as my feet hit the ice-cold tile) and slowly made my way to the hanging clothes.  Shuddering a little at the cold temperature in the room, I slid out of my clammy pajamas and into the hose, skirt, and blouse, in that order.  The fit was a little loose on everything (save the hose, those are one-size-fits-all), but who was I to complain?  At least I had something.  And it wouldn't do to show up in court in my tear-soaked PJ's.  Or Elwood's clothes, for that matter.  I smiled a little at the memory.  The clinic was one thing.  I didn't think I'd make a good impression by coming in, wearing someone else's clothes.  People made assumptions, and with men's clothes, it's no exception.  Of course, I wasn't exactly picking clothes from my own closet here, so who was I to be choosy?  'Choosers will be beggars when the begging's not their choosing', and all that jazz.

I left the jacket and the pumps where they were, seeing as I had a few hours left to go before going before the judge.  Wouldn't do to get the jacket wrinkled or the shoes scuffed.  So I sat back down on the bed and ran through exactly what I was and what I wasn't going to say.  Well, without sounding like a total nut case anyway.  I thought about the total truth first.  Usually, people tell you to tell the truth, no matter what.  Eh…in this case, that might not be such a good idea.  I didn't want to spend the rest of my life here, in the mental ward, because I simply told the truth.  So I thought about an altered version, and dropped it.  I also didn't want to spend the rest of my life in a high-security prison.  So I thought, and remembered that it's always the prosecution that goes first in a court setting.  So I'd follow Mary's lead and defend against whatever she had to accuse.  I was always good at improvisation.

***

"All rise, for the Honorable Judge Edward Bowen."

The courtroom all rose to their feet, as if on cue.  So did I, and tried to ignore the aches that still ran rampant throughout my body.  The shoes had been about a size too small, and I winced as I got to my feet.  No matter, I'd be sitting in a moment.  The jacket could have easily hidden a herd of elephants, but again, who was I to be picky?  You take what you can get when you can get it.  It wasn't like I had anything to hide…anymore.  They didn't like someone convicted of murder carrying weapons into the trial.  Rock on, Second Amendment.

My last-minute lawyer was a relatively young female, mid-late twenties.  Her name was Catherine Bell, and she was fresh out of college.  Great.  First, nobody wanted to represent me in court, and second, the only person who will is a first-timer.  Something told me that I was better off defending myself without an attorney.  Something else told me to sit down and shut up.  I went with the latter something.  If I'd have listened to the first voice, I'd have probably run screaming out of the room, probably kicking the ass of everyone who got in my way.  Either that or I'd have wrestled a gun from someone and started shooting.  Hey, with the latter option, I had a chance to fight for my innocence.  The former option was a guaranteed suicide.  So I sat down, and shut up.  Just like a good little girl should.  Me, a good little girl?  Naw.  

I'd seen a few familiar faces in the crowd.  Rook, Jay, and Elwood were both there, acting as sort of a cheerleading squad.  They were there for me, not for them.  Dr. Proudmoore was probably off doing something more worthy of her time.  It didn't surprise me.  She never did like me to begin with.  I also saw none other than JAMES in the crowd.  He was in a wheelchair and was hooked up to several IV's, but he was still functioning.  Damn.  I was beginning to wish that I HAD killed him.  When I caught his eye, he sent me a look of pure and total venom, with just a hint of mocking on the side.  The glare you get when someone is about to say, 'You are in SUCH trouble and when you finally crash and burn I'm going to laugh and laugh and laugh.  You have absolutely no chance.'  Yeah.  That kind of look.  And what bothered me more was that Laura was with him.  The cute, innocent, Laura.  If only I could tell her what was going on- she probably wouldn't understand or even care, but I wanted to do something to help.  As much as I hated kids, I was trying to save one.  Shows how much of a softie I'd become.  A technicality that must be remedied…immediately.  Presuming I'd survive the trial, that is.

Judge Bowen stepped to his position and sat down.  He was an older man, in his forties, with a slightly less-than-fair complexion.  A few wrinkles had made themselves known, but they were the lines of a life well lived.  His thinning hair had once been a bright chestnut, but was now speckled with gray and white.  You could tell from his steel-gray eyes that he'd seen much more than other people, and that most of it wasn't pretty.  Most judges I knew wished that they could erase some portion of their lives, be it from the early or late days.  You just never know how strenuous a job like this gets, and when the media does show it, it tends to be more romanticized and muted.  But one look in this man's eyes would make you forget all the court television shows you'd ever seen.  Why don't people look each other in the eye anymore?  This was probably why.

When Judge Bowen sat, everyone else in the courtroom sat.  So, I did too.  Bowen cleared his throat and stared at me.  "Dr. Kira Devereaux," I took this as my cue to stand up again, "You are charged with one count of murder, one count of attempted murder, and one count of unauthorized hacking into an unauthorized database.  How do you plead?"

I looked the judge square in the eye.  "Not guilty."

Judge Bowen nodded once, then turned his attention to the prosecution.  "Mrs. Sunderland, you may begin."

***

At the near end of the trial, I sat in my chair, hunched over, with my head down on the table in front of me.  I was facing the facts: my life was soon to be over.  The trial, which started out hopeful, had taken a sharp turn for the worst.  And I mean, WORST.  It wasn't as though I could dance around the questions, answering them with questions of my own, oh no.  I'd sworn on the Bible, and though I wasn't a practicing Catholic, I still swore by the good book and kept my word by it.  Religion truly sucks sometimes.  Mary's prosecution  (who just happened to be Mr. Bernardo Ramirez, the most esteemed lawyer in the region) started out with the basic, most absolutely crippling questions.  Such as, "Describe in your own words precisely what happened on the nights these accusations took place.  Give all the details you can."  I gave all the details, and tried to make my story sound as convincing as possible.  But somehow I earned myself several skeptical looks from the room, as well as from the Judge.  Great.  Ramirez asked the same question to Mary when she was on the stand, and somehow her story seemed a LOT more convincing.  Something about taking a trip to see her husband after a long day's work, finding me trying to kill him with a shotgun, and turning it on her when I was done with James.  If that wasn't a load of bull, then what was it?  Certainly not viable, that was for sure.  And when it was Catherine's turn to try to defend me, she absolutely bungled it.  From dropping her notes to taking back things she said, to asking the wrong questions to the wrong person, and calling the Judge 'My Honor'…why didn't someone just shoot me right in the head, right now?  Or better yet: shoot HER.  It would relieve my tension tremendously.  I was beginning to resent not having any weapons.

"Dr. Kira Devereaux."  I raised my head, uncrossed my arms, and stood up, shakily.  I couldn't even feel the pinch of the shoes on my feet anymore.  It didn't matter.  In sheer moments I would have other, much greater troubles.

"Your testimony, though well-given, is absolutely ridiculous.  I do not doubt that you are well-learned and extremely articulate, and though I sensed that you were telling the absolute truth, the truth in your opinion seems to be nothing but utter nonsense.  You stressed that the woman was dead before you killed her, but that makes absolutely no sense.  There are no such things as zombies.  You say you didn't pull the trigger, but we've established from Dr. Haley's testimony that James Sunderland is not suicidal.  An accident, possibly, but you were holding the gun when it was fired, and it was not pointed at you.  Logic states that no other thing could have caused that but the holder on the opposite end.  As for the hacking, Mr. Sunderland's testimony stated that he found your software on his computer, and that he had not tampered with your computer at all.  And all this nonsense about a demon…Dr. Devereaux, every time you opened your mouth, all it was doing was condemning you.  However, I find that your testimony is not that of a guilty woman, or innocent woman, or even…a sane woman.

"Therefore it is the judgment of this court that you be condemned indefinitely to an asylum for the insane.  This court is adjourned."

I felt my heart stop a split second before the gavel sounded.  I heard a voice, screaming, and it took me a moment to realize that it was me.  I was screaming at the top of my lungs, screaming for no other purpose.  The unfairness of it all, the absolute horror of it.  I felt hands grab my arms, and I felt myself being dragged toward the side door, toward the holding facility.  I struggled, tried to say something coherent, but I found it to be absolutely futile.  My mouth had forgotten how to form words, and all I managed were unintelligible syllables.  My ears had forgotten how to hear, and though I knew there was supposed to be a tumultuous noise, I could only manage to hear a dull roar.  I saw Elwood shouting something, Jay was looking furious, and Rook looked pale.  James had a tiny smirk playing across his lips, but he said nothing.  Everything seemed to be in slow motion, and as I was being dragged to the door, I saw Laura run to Mary.  She picked Laura up, said something to her, and kissed her on the cheek.  She was looking straight at me the whole time, and there was a sense of mocking in her cold, unfeeling eyes.  If only I'd had my weapons…

But I didn't.

I stopped struggling and let them take me to the cell.  There came a point where you are just overwhelmed by the helplessness of it all, and you stop fighting the current.  Mary had promised to destroy me if I did anything to stop her, and by God in Heaven, she did just that.  I only wished I could have fulfilled my promise.  However, I was going to be in the nuthouse, keeping my good friend Harry company.

Harry!  …Oh, he was going to love this.

***

I walked down to The Tomb in inmate wear.  The gray shirt over the white undershirt, the matching gray pants.  My number stitched to the pockets.  Jay was in front of me, and we had an escort of armed guards with us.  My hands were cuffed, as well as my feet, and this time I was willing to bet the farm that Jay wasn't going to take those off as a courtesy.  We went down the row of cells at the bottom, and stopped at the last cell, Harry's cell.  It was empty.

"Jay," I managed to croak, "Wasn't Harry Mason in this cell?"

Jay looked at me with the most awkward expression.  He paled a little, then said, "Kira…nobody was in this cell.  It's been empty for almost three years."

I started.  I could feel my eyes widen before I could stop myself.  "There was nobody named Harry Mason here?"

Jay shook his head.  "No.  I'd remember.  I know everyone ever admitted to this block in my administration.  You must be really out of it, Kira."  Which translated to, 'Maybe you really are insane, and I just didn't see it.'  Real comforting, Jay.  Truly.

The cell gate opened, and I obediently stepped in.  I felt hands unlock my ankle cuffs, then my handcuffs.  Then, they closed the gate.  It was then that I hit the low point of my life.  When that bolt slid home, that's when reality hit me.  When you walk that last mile, when you get to your final destination and the whole meaning of it all suddenly hits you…that is when you realize…that it might have or might have not all been for naught.

Well, I sure had a long time to decide which it would be.

And I didn't want to miss a moment of it.

~~~

Go to the epilogue!  This wasn't truly gratifying, I know- but the epilogue will make it worth it.  You shall see.  ^_~


	19. Epilogue: When the curtain fell

A/N:  Okies, here we go, the epilogue.  I promise, this will make the ending seem worth it.  Tar and feather me if it's not.

Pax!

~Rumer

Autopsy Report: Epilogue

I was thinking.  Thinking long and hard.  After two weeks in this prison, I was finally getting into a rhythm.  Think and draw, think and draw, think and draw.  They let me have pencil and paper, but they wouldn't let me have music, which was a true pity.  But I could at least remember what I used to listen to.  Desert Rose tended to pop into my mind more often than not, and every time it did, I had the urge to smile.  But it also made me want to cry, too.  I was missing so much on the outside that I didn't even realize.  I missed Rook's undaunted cheerfulness, I missed Elwood's sharp wit and clever humor, hell, I even missed Jaina's random strands of bitchy ranting.  And that was pretty sad.  

I was in the middle of another round of hopeless self-pity when a sharp tapping came from the bars of my cell.  I opened my eyes and looked over.  There wasn't anyone there, but there was something white on the floor.  I brought myself to a sitting position and looked a little closer.  It was a letter.  Fascinating, I didn't think we were allowed letters.  Quickly, I went over and snatched it up.  My name was written in graceful script across the front, and when I saw it, my hands began to tremble.  I turned the letter over, and saw that it had a red wax seal, with a pentagram imprinted into the wax.  The letters HM were distinguishable among the details, and though I wanted to save the seal and look at it more closely later, I snapped it off and looked inside.

There was a thin piece of parchment and a theater ticket inside.  I carefully took both out and held them in separate hands.  The theater ticket was for Jekyll & Hyde, and the parchment was a letter, penned with graceful hand and done in plum purple ink.  I put the ticket on my lap, feeling a bit puzzled, and began to read.

_Dear Kira,_

_By this point, you should be wondering what on Earth happened_

_to me.  Well, to answer your question, nothing happened.  You simply_

_took my place._

_Confused?  Of course you are.  You see, when you saw what was really_

_Happening at Silent Hill, the powers that be decided that you couldn't_

_be left to spread the word.  So, they silenced you the best way they_

_could- they shut you up in here, like they did me.  But alas, it seems that_

_there can only be one such person like that.  I was it for a while, and _

_when you showed up, I vacated my position for you.  You should be_

_honored- not many people get to be an interdemensional marker._

_It is a solitary existance, but we learn to cope.  You're learning_

_already, aren't you, Kira?_

_But you still miss the outside world.  Do not let it trouble you.  Life_

_goes on, just as it always does and just as it always will do.  I do_

_know about your injuries, both physical and mental.  Your physical_

_wounds will heal with time, of that I am sure, but your mental wounds_

_will take longer.  Did you ever stop to think about your scars?_

_Not just from this, but in general.  Our scars have the power to _

_remind us that the past was real.  Have you ever thought about that?_

_Surely you must have several scars that tell a story.  And every time_

_you think about them, you get a pang of remembrance.  I know._

_I have several similar scars myself.  I would love to show them to_

_you, and tell you their stories, but alas, my time runs short, and I_

_have but one thing left to say._

_Did you get the theater ticket?  Hopefully you did.  I was at that_

_show, since you were not.  It was I who ordered the tickets,_

_not you.  Dr. Haley never received one, and I gave you the extra._

_Reality is so easy to bend, isn't it?  Truth as well, for that matter._

_It all depends on your perspective of the subject.  Anything_

_you believe may become real- it all depends on how strongly you_

_believe in it.  It is amazing how fragile this world is compared to_

_others.  You know of what world I speak._

_Remember, Kira.  This world is hardly real.  There are so many_

_false fronts and realistic facades, that sometimes it becomes hard_

_to distinguish fantasy from reality.  Do not lose that grip on life, for_

_once it's gone, it's really gone, and then you will truly be crazy._

_You aren't crazy, you know._

_And at the show, when the curtain fell…I thought of you._

_Ta,_

_Harry Mason_

I folded the letter, put both letter and ticket back into the envelope, and smiled.

~~~

FIN!!!  See, I told you it was worth it!  Or was it?  Good?  Bad?  Review!  I'll have the author's final note page up shortly.


	20. Final Note

Hey, all! Rumer here, with the promised final note.  
  
Well, what can I say? It was a long, long road, and we've only  finished part one of it. Will the horror ever end? I hope not, it's been way too fun to stop now! Especially since we can't leave dear old Kira to the terrors of the human mind…or the demon heart. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference, eh? And that's the creepy part.  
  
To start with, I'd like to recognize everything I…er…borrowed, be it quotes, scenes, ideas, etc.  
  
Konami: For providing me with Silent Hill 1 and 2, and Dance Dance Revolution to play when I got writer's block! Love all you guys there, and yer twisted little minds! ^_^  
  
Ed Harris: For coming up with the name Lecter, letting me use a variation on an interrogation scene, and not being able to find me to sue me for it. Damn good books, by the way…  
  
Blizzard Entertainment: For coming up with the name "Jaina Proudmoore".  
  
Bruce Coville: For coming up with the name "M'ai Ling".  
  
Bill Engvall: For the SPAM references and the "shrapnel fashion accessory" spiel.  
  
WeiB Kreuz: For giving James the personality of Fujimiya Aya.  
  
Gainax: For coming up with Neon Genesis Evangelion, traumatizing me for watching it, letting me use the name Tabris, and for letting me steal several scenes from it. Love ya, Kaworu-kun! ^.~  
  
Laurell K. Hamilton: For providing me with HOURS of entertainment and damn good reading, as well as a great many of the quotes. Anita, the main character of LKH's books, has the exact same attitude that Kira does. If you liked Kira, then you'll LOVE Anita.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Now then, since all that's over with, I have several things to point out that you, the reader, may have missed.  
  
Kira Devereaux: Let's break it down. Kira: The lioness from The Lion King 2. She may have been a bitch, but she was a COOL bitch. Devereaux: The Wing Commander from the movie (so aptly named), Wing Commander. If you want to know what Kira looks like, find a picture of Devereaux ("Angel") and there you'll have it. Or you can just look for the dark-haired girl from Deep Blue Sea. It's the same girl with the same hairstyle, so *shrug* whatever's easier.  
  
Jekyll & Hyde: My absolute FAVORITE Broadway musical of all time. I highly recommend it.  
  
312 Raegan Boulevard: 312 was the number of the room that James and Mary stayed in when they were in Silent Hill. You knew that, of course. But what you DIDN'T know was that Raegan is the last name of the main character of the fanfiction Broken Mirror by Gaia Ravyn Myles. A damn good story, and from what I hear, it's almost finished. Go read! Quickly!  
  
Sheriff Bruce Drake: My old Algebra teacher's last name was Drake, and that woman was the devil incarnate. I swear to the Lord above, that woman reveled in my misery and pain. She even accused me of ruining her Thanksgiving vacation because I wrote her a letter asking for help on my work. Real nice lady. Right. I hope she burns in HELL. Bruce is the last name of an annoying guy I know who I'd give anything to beat the holy hell out of.  
  
Rook Pawnton: I'm a huge Chess fan…can't you tell? ^_^  
  
Elwood: The tall, skinny Blues Brother. He rocks.  
  
Catherine, the Lawyer: Catherine is a lawyer from Laurell K. Hamilton's books. But I made her worse than she really is. Forgive me.  
  
Jay Haley: The author of the book, Strategies of Psychotherapy. A fun book, that…  
  
The poetry in the last chapter came originally from Stephen King's book, The Gunslinger. However, only the first two lines of it were actually included in the book. Therefore, I went out to find the rest and voila! There you have it. Sadly, I couldn't find the author of that poem…  
  
Edward Bowen: Edward: The assassin-for-hire in the Anita Blake series; Bowen: The Dragonslayer from DragonHeart. I just decided to make him a judge. Heh.  
  
1030 Grand View Boulevard: That's an actual address in my town…*looks around sneakily* And before you ask, no, it's not mine. But I wish it was; that's a pretty apartment complex.  
  
  
***  
  
  
NEXT! What you've all been waiting for, hints about the sequel!  
  
~It WILL be from Kira's point of view  
  
~Mary and James will get their due  
  
~Elwood and Rook will be around  
  
~There might be a few surprises found  
  
~Love for Kira? We shall see...Yes or no? Let me know!  
  
Uh oh...I'm starting to rhyme. Best to start the ending time.  
  
  
***  
  
  
And last but not least, I'd like to thank YOU, the readers, for making this story what it is today. Honestly, this story would have crashed and burned without your support, and I owe you everything. Your support has been the backbone of this story, and without it, AR would have died a LONG time ago.  
  
And so I tip my hat, and give my bow. I'm done for the time being, but hang in there, kiddies! The work's only half done for this Mazoku! We have to get Kira out of the frying pan, out of the fire, and back on the shelf, don't we? And we also have to give Mary and James what's coming to them. Revenge may be sweet, but so is revival, and you will surely receive both in the continuation of this account: Autopsy Report: Relapse!   
  
Pax!  
  
~Rumer


End file.
